The Wolf and the Bird with the Broken Wing
by BObsessedryis
Summary: This takes place after season 3, so spoilers abound! In waiting for season 4, this is one possible outcome of Jahr Null. Other characters may be featured at some point, but it is focused on Juliana and John Smith, and their eventual (slow burn) romance. Also plenty of Thomas!
1. Chapter 1

**I own no characters from Man in the High Castle. I love the show and cannot wait for season 4, so this is my story. I hope you enjoy! All reviews as well as constructive feedback are very welcome!**

oOoOo

Juliana gasps.

The pain in her side is excruciating. Her hands instinctively finds the spot and she feels the warm fluid gushing from the wound.

She remembers John. She hadn't seen him, but she had heard him open the door and his boots hit the cold stone floor. She had felt the horror and awe in his being as she attuned to her world, then the multiverse. The last thing she remembers is being shot.

Juliana forces her eyes open. She is laying on the sidewalk in front of a liquor store. She sees a taxi pullover, and a young man jumps out to help her. "Call 9-1-1!" he yells into the liquor store. The elderly man in the store rushes to the phone.

Juliana sees a large yellow sign with red characters that she can't make out.

"Mandarin," she mumbles before passing out again.

oOoOo

John stands in shock, slowly lowering his gun.

 _She's gone_.

One of the security soldiers rushes into the room, "Sir! What happened?"

Reichsmarschall Smith steadies himself and inhales. "It appears Miss Crain has traveled." He glances sideways at the man then nods to the blood on the wall. "And I shot her."

"Is she dead sir?" The soldier asks, still startled.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Smith muses honestly. There could be no way of knowing that for now. His voice chills, "But for the time being, we need to focus on Hawthorne. I'm growing tired of waiting for answers." Smith turns to look directly at the soldier, adding "Get the wife too."

"Understood, Reichsmarschall." The soldier heils and Smith nods his dismissal.

John walks closer to the wall, and touches Juliana's blood. "Where have you gone to, Miss Crain?" He mumbles thoughtfully to himself. He wipes his fingers on the empty bed in the cold, empty room, and leaves. His strides are intentional and his steely green eyes focused.

He has an interrogation to begin.

oOoOo

The beeping was quiet, but growing louder as Juliana comes out of her slumber. She blinks a few times, at first all she sees is white. As the world comes into focus, she realizes she is in a hospital room, and the beeping is from the instruments beside her bed.

"Good, you're up," smiles a beautiful nurse.

Juliana doesn't mean to stare, but she is a gorgeous black woman _and_ a nurse.

"Where am I?" she groggily questions.

"Oh honey, you must have a concussion. You're in the lower east side of Manhattan. This is Mount Sinai Beth Israel hospital, the intensive care unit." The nurse rests a hand on her arm. "Do you remember being shot?"

Her sky blue eyes flutter up to the nurse, then down. "I was walking down the street, after meeting a friend for dinner. And I was shot."

The nurse is about to ask, but Juliana shakes her head before she does. "I didn't see where it came from."

The nurse sighs. "There hasn't been a lot of gang activity in Chinatown the last few years or so, but these things still happen from time to time." She patted Juliana's arm reassuringly. "But you've recovered well. You'll be able to go home tomorrow!" The nurse exudes kindness and joy, and Juliana doesn't know what to think except how grateful she is to wake up in whatever world this is.

"Thank you." Juliana offers a small smile, blinking tears from her eyes. "What's your name?"

"Sorry, dear. I should have introduced myself." The woman puts out her hand, "My name is Eliza Mahoney, you can call me Eliza or Nurse Mahoney."

Lifting her arm doesn't hurt as much as she was expecting as she shales the kind woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you Nurse Mahoney. My name is Julia Mills." She doesn't want to lie to this woman, but she knows the real Juliana Crain would be dead in this world. It feels ironic to use a name her attempted murderer gave her in a Reich long gone. She is so very thankful to have escaped it, for now.

"And now we have your name! Is there anyone we can call for you, Julia? You didn't have any identification when the ambulance found you so no one knows you are here..."

Juliana shakes her head. "Both my parents died in the war." She has no idea what happened to her parents in this world, but she also doesn't know what else to say to stop the questions.

The older woman nod with sympathy in her eyes, "I lost my son in the war."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Juliana replies empathetically. Eliza doesn't look in her 60's, but then again, Juliana realizes she doesn't know what a black woman in her 60's might even look like!

"And I yours." Eliza's expression is so kind and reassuring. Her tone shifts to probing but remains gentle. "What about your friend? She will be wanting to know you're okay."

"It's alright. If I can go home tomorrow, I'll call then. I feel… tired." Juliana closes her eyes again.

"Alright, dear. Get some sleep." Eliza pats her arm once more before leaving. She finds the doctor and gives him Julia's name. The other nurses begin to gossip a little about who this woman is and why she was walking alone in Chinatown at 3 a.m.

Eliza shushes them. "She isn't dressed that way, Mary. Now stop speculating and get back to working!" The junior nurses nod and scurry away. Eliza looks in the room concerned, but leaves to tend to her other patients.

oOoOo

"I already told you, Johnny boy." Hawthorne grins although there is little to be happy about.

His hands are hanging from chains bolted to the ceiling. He is forced to stand on his toes so that his shoulders don't slip out of their sockets. His exhaustion is setting in. He hasn't slept in over 24 hours, his concern for his wife grows, and his arms and calves ache from his current position. But still, seeing the Reichsmarshal flustered is such fun.

John glances over at his assistant, then motions his head towards the door. "Go," he says simply.

The man is wise enough not to question or protest, heils and leaves immediately.

"Ah… don't want prying ears and jabbering lips to run amok? You've worked so hard to gather intel without the whole world knowing of worlds upon worlds. Even the men who work here with that foolish contraption, you want to keep in the d-a-r-k, d-a-r-k, dark dark dark, dark as in the movie-"

"Enough!" John growls, grabbing the stick from the table and stabbing his prisoner in the side, releasing a powerful electric shock. Hawthorne screams in agony.

The door opens again, the soldier wheels in Caroline Abendsen. She looks barely conscious. The soldier heils and leaves John alone in the room.

Smith takes a deep breath. "Now, Hawthorne. Answer me again. How is someone able to travel from one world to the next?" He levels his eyes upon his prey. Hawthorne's wife has anchored his attention. A second shock to his side snaps him back to the present.

"They are dead!" Hawthorne shouts, spitting blood on John's uniform. "In the other world, they're dead. You'll never see 100% success rate, John. Never!"

John goes to stab the man a third time but Hawthorne calls out, "Wait! You need to know… to know why it's easier for Juliana and her sister to travel between worlds."

Smith raises an eyebrow, and Hawthorne gulps. "They are at the center. Somehow, somehow… every world… their decisions matter. And usually, they die. One of them, in almost every world. But because they are connected, like magnets, they find each other in the chaos. Every. Single. Time."

"They're both dead in this world." Smith's voice drips with brutality. He needs Hawthorne to believe they have lost, that any resistance is futile and that his wife's life hangs in the balance in _this_ world.

But Hawthorne scoffs. "You wouldn't be the first to doubt the powers of a traveler. What the body goes through as atoms arrange and rearrange through time and space… it's almost magical..." His eyes glaze over as he loses himself in the fantasy of disappearing with Caroline. Hawthorne never could travel, but oh how he longs to know what it is like!

"Perhaps they are important and maybe she is alive, if she survives. But she is gone from this world anyway. She abandoned you." John sneers.

"For now," Hawthorne retorts with wisdom and near omniscience that frustrates Smith.

John stabs him again. This time, for far longer than is safe to maintain a living victim for interrogation, but he doesn't care. His blood is boiling at this puppeteer, trying to make John feel the fool. His muscles tense, the scent of burning flesh causes him to almost lose himself in the kill. He blinks and returns to himself at just the right moment. His senses bring him back into the room and he hears the echoes of Hawthorne's wailing, now just a low moan.

John turns on his heels to go. "Remember, Captain. Remember." Hawthorne groans his response before passing out.

Smith nods to the soldier waiting outside and the man goes in with a few assistants to let Hawthorne down. If they leave him up much longer, he won't be any use to them. They also bring out Caroline so she can return to their "care." John has no idea if she will live, and he doesn't care.

As Reichsmarschall Smith wanders the hallways back to the machine, what he now believes to be a feeble attempt at a portal to other worlds, he reflects on Mr. Abendsen's words.

"Remember, Captain. Remember."

oOoOo

 **Fun fact: Mary Eliza Mahoney was the first black registered nurse. She graduated from a school in New England in 1870. This Eliza is her descendant.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Reviews appreciated!**

oOoOo

"And just put your address here so we can send the hospital bill. You can sort out insurance later once you have all your paperwork." The older nurse, Eliza, kindly says while gesturing at the last of the hospital forms.

"Thank you so much, for everything." Juliana's expression is courteous and she truly feels indebted. This woman's care slowly brought her back to this new world. Nurse Mahoney had even brought her some news papers from the week so Juliana could be "caught up" on current affairs. It is September in this world as well, meaning she traveled on the very same day.

"Take care of yourself, Miss Mills." Eliza adds, as she cuts the patient wristband off Juliana's arm.

"Have a good day, Nurse Mahoney."

Juliana leaves the hospital and finds herself in the lower east end of Manhattan. The hustle and bustle of the city is somewhat familiar from her time in the Reich, but everything in this world is brighter. There is more color, more signs and posters of musicals and movies, concerts and events held throughout New York. She wants to go to every museum, consume every work of art and eat every delicious smelling thing she walks by.

But she has work to do.

oOoOo

John Smith's new office is much the same as his previous one, only larger and even further up the largest building in New York.

"Reichsmarschall." Richard heils.

"Yes, Obergruppenführer Diels?" John inspects the man. Richard Diels has risen the ranks quickly, a decade or so younger than John. Smith's instincts tell him this man cannot be trusted, but he can be used.

"We've tracked some of the resistance whereabouts in Wyoming, sir. My men are heading out tomorrow." Richard looks proud of himself.

"Tomorrow may be too late." Smith raises an eyebrow, and leans forward to rest his folded hands on the desk. "Why the delay?" His questioning tone holds a threat.

Richard remembers himself, and stands straighter. "I'm sorry, sir. They will leave tonight."

"Good. Heil Himmler," John adds to end their conversation.

"Heil Himmler," Richard responds with a salute and retreats.

John finds himself concerned, eyes wandering out the window. He stands and looks over the city, scanning downtown Manhattan. He senses a presence suddenly. He turns, as if half expecting someone to be standing in his office. He closes his eyes, tells himself he is just tired and to focus on the task at hand.

The council will want a new Fuhrer if Himmler doesn't pull through. John's best guess was that Großadmiral Karl Dönitz would be next in line. He does not have the same rapport with Dönitz, which worries him.

And then there is Helen.

With everything else that has happened, he almost forgot about Helen, Jennifer, and Amy, little Amy. Emotion catches in his throat as he remembers his darling girls. He tries to remind himself he did everything, he does everything, for them. Even he is finding it harder and harder to believe that these days.

He clasps his wrists behind his back as he returns to the city. His countenance darkens as he has an idea.

oOoOo

Juliana couldn't find her. Being on the east coast and in New York, the first person who came to mind to find was Helen Smith. Even as the wife of a powerful Nazi, she was always kind to Julia Mills in their world.

She wondered if this was even the right world. How could she know? She just knows it is a world with a space-she either died or never existed here. The Man in the High Castle had told her that Trudy and her were like magnets pulling one another into worlds, so there is a chance Trudy is alive in this world.

She closes her eyes and rubs them, frustrated. If she can not find Helen, she is completely alone. She has no money, no resources, no connections. She is just floating, an inter-universal drifter.

Her side hurts when she laughs but she knows just how ridiculous it all sounds. She opens her eyes and knows what she has to do. She still has to find him after all. If he is in this world, she needs to find him. He is the one who can change everything.

She looks back at the book, scanning the names. There are three John Smiths living close by. One lives in a suburb, one in the Bronx and another in Manhattan. She figures starting close and working her way out would make the most sense. But if this John is the family man she saw a glimpse of in the films, she knows where to look first. Scribbling the address and phone number on a piece of paper, she continues to wonder what she will even say.

As Juliana finds a newspaper stand, she grabs a map. The man working the stand looks at her, expecting money. "I… I don't have any." Her eyes flutter down, then back to him. He looks gruff, uninterested in her sad stories. "Ten cents or leave."

She digs into her pockets. She knows she has nothing, Reichsmarschall John would have taken everything from her when she was captured in the tunnel in the other place, the other world.

Suddenly, she finds some bills in her pocket. She pulls them out. "Eliza..." she mutters, continuing to be thankful to that gracious woman, then looks at the man. He scoffs.

"Do you have change?" She hands him a wrinkled one dollar bill with George Washington on it. She wants to study the bill, but she needs to be on her way.

"Thank you." She whispers as she walks down the street to the nearest bus station.

She has $4.90 left, and hopes it will be enough to get her where she needs to go.

oOoOo

John Smith lay away on his side, staring at the empty space in his bed where Helen once slept. He knows he should miss her more than he does. But maybe, she was right. He is changing, he has been for a long time. He knows trying to protect Thomas may have been the last bit of the man he once wanted to be. Now, he has to be something else entirely. He has to be the Reichsmarschall. He has to keep things from falling further into chaos after an assassination attempt on their leader.

There is too much on his mind to get anymore real sleep. It's only 4 a.m., but he decides can get an early start at work. He can watch more films and lose himself in those realities.

There is a side room attached to his office where he can watch the films undisturbed. He first watches the one where he is fishing with Thomas again. He is wearing the most ridiculous fishers hat, one he remembers his father used to wear. Thomas suddenly tugs on his pull, realizing he has caught a big one and begins to struggle to reel it in. John, that John, cheers him on and encourages him. Together, they pull in a large trout.

The screen goes black and John pulls himself back to his world. He puts the film away and grabs another one he hasn't watched yet.

It begins, and there is a large crowd gathered in what he remembers as the Lincoln Memorial, now called The Victory Memorial and atop the tower is a large swastika. But in this film, none of that is there. There is a crowd gathering of all colors with signs and posters, proclaiming civil rights-racial freedom and equality for all.

His eyes narrow as the speaker steps forward. A black man? John wishes he could hear what propaganda this man spewed to get these crowds to believe such profound idiocy. He cocked his head to the side, watching as the man starts speaking with what is clear conviction. The film shows close up shots of the crowd, faces of young and old, men and women of all races crying, hugging, holding hands. He sees a young man in a wheelchair.

This is not a rally he is used to watching.

These people seem to admire this man, but they also seem to deeply care for one another. There is a solidarity built on something more than rhetoric. As John glowers at the screen, analyzing the faces, he thinks their expressions hold something unique-not the common admiration mixed with respectful fear of Hitler's zealous followers, but love.

John brings his finger to his lips lost in reflection.

The phone rings, and he slowly lifts himself up from his large leather chair. He strolls to the phone in his main office. "Reichsmarschall," he answers simply.

"Reichsmarschall Smith, It's Großadmiral Dönitz," the voice has a jovial quality to it, as if they were old friends.

"Großadmiral Dönitz, how can I help you?" His eyes become chips of emerald ice, waiting for a command he doesn't want to follow or intel that would be most disturbing.

"I hear you are compiling a list of the resistance members we have killed. I did not know your purpose when my office was contacted and so I called." The tone changes only a little with an air of intimidation lingering.

Smith has to make a decision. If Himmler dies, then Dönitz might be the new Fuhrer. If Himmler lives, revealing intel to Dönitz could be detrimental. John does not know who Himmler has revealed his secrets to.

"Großadmiral Dönitz, I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. Mostly, we believe some of the resistance may have faked their own deaths. We are simply verifying our victories and cleaning up any lingering mess," he reports trying to remain unreadable. John speaks as though he has assumed the Großadmiral called merely concerned about loose ends and rather than to gather intel. His voice stays even and without suspicion.

Dönitz sounds appeased, returning to a friendlier communication, "Of course, Reichsmarschall. If you need any assistance from the navy, please, let me know."

"That is kind of you, Großadmiral. If I need anything, I will call you. Heil Himmler."

"Heil Himmler," Dönitz hang up with the last syllable.

John returns the phone and stands, letting his hands slide into his pockets, his face knit with concern.

He hopes there is no reason to worry, that Himmler will pull through and his position will be secure. But then he remembers nothing is secure if Miss Crain can just hop back and forth between worlds with more resistance members. She could ruin everything he has worked for.

He whisks his leather trench coat from the closet and strides out of his office.

Perhaps a direct visit to the Intelligence Department will hurry things along.

oOoOo

Juliana decides a cab would be easier than a bus and she is able to flag one down. He is a kind, talkative man from Pakistan. She isn't totally sure where that is, and asks him all kinds of questions though she tries not to sound ignorant. She is able to piece together that when the Allies won, the British released their Indian colony and two countries formed, India and Pakistan. It sounds to Juliana like things have been tense between the two countries on and off, but this man doesn't seem to have any prejudices against Indians in the United States and begins to talk about the similarities and differences in cuisine.

Juliana finds it hard to believe everything is just so different and begins to think it might be worth grabbing a history book to not be a complete dolt.

Eventually, the driver turns down a small two lane street in a beautifully pristine neighborhood. Her breath catches a moment as it reflects some of the homes she recalls from the Reich. As she looks around, however, she sees USA flags up on some of the houses, one or two posters in windows about civil rights for all, and not a single swastika in sight.

As the cab begins to slow down, Juliana finds herself breathless again.

 _Thomas_.

oOoOo


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own anything… wish I did. This show is amazing and all credit to the cast, crew, writers and directors.**

 **oOoOo**

Juliana's attention lingers on the tall, teenage boy mowing the lawn in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She was not sure how she would feel seeing him again, but she finds herself truly delighted.

"Thank you for the ride." She reaches into her pocket to pull out the change.

"$0.55," the man says, turning around to face her, "And thank you for the conversation, miss."

"It was my pleasure. Your homeland sounds beautiful." She says with genuine interest.

He chuckles. "This is my home, miss. I'm a New Yorker through and through. But yes, Pakistan is lovely."

As the cab pulls away, Juliana makes a mental note that not everyone in this world has the same sense of nationalism that she is used to. She feels a little silly for assuming things would be more familiar. She lets go of her embarrassment as her eyes wander back over to the teen mowing the lawn. She is so happy to see Thomas again.

She begins to walk down the sidewalk. Four houses away, three, two, and she slips off the sidewalk and twists her ankle. It hurts like hell, especially when she falls on her injured side. She hopes that she doesn't break the stitches open, and that another injury is worth it.

"Miss!" Thomas stops the lawn mower and rushes over. "Miss, are you alright?"

Juliana looks up and immediately wants to hug him but she contains herself. "I… I think I twisted my ankle." She lets the tears collect from the pain and then blinks them away.

Thomas admires her eyes, then glances to the front door. "You could come inside and I can get you some ice for your ankle."

She nods, and Thomas pulls her arm over his shoulder as he helps her to stand up. He is strong in this world and seems well. Juliana wonders if he has the same condition here too. Maybe in this world there is a cure or a treatment. Or maybe without the hostility, constant fear, and fascism, Thomas is allowed to thrive as a strapping young man.

"I am so sorry to inconvenience you." She does her best "bird with the broken wing" routine. She giggles a little to herself, thinking of how the other Thomas' father had called her out on it when he interrogated her in his apartment.

"It is no problem at all. Here's a step." Thomas clearly enjoys playing the hero, trying to make his voice sound a little deeper than it is. He peeks over and eyes wander to her chest a moment before he checks himself and focuses on helping her up the stairs to their entryway.

Juliana glimpses a picture of Helen and John on the hallway wall as they go by. They are much, much younger and John's smile is serene. She wants to pause but her side and ankle are hurting too much.

"Just a little further," he half carries her through the kitchen.

She pulls a chair out and Thomas leaves her side to get a bag and fill it with ice.

"Such a lovely home," she comments, looking into the living room. They have a small television and a mantle with father and son pictures mostly. A few photographs have John's extended family, including a slightly older man in a wheelchair who she guesses is his brother.

"Thank you. My dad isn't the best decorator, but his sister helped a bit." Thomas smiles, handing Juliana the ice for her ankle.

"Oh, where is your father?" She inquired half-heartedly. She had planned to arrive a little before he got home. She almost feels guilty, but she believes she needs Thomas to develop his boyhood crush in order for her to gain the sympathy of his father.

"He is at work, but he will be here soon." Thomas stands, realizing he hasn't finished his chores. "I'm sorry…" He looks at her quizzically.

"Julia, Julia Mills." She replies knowingly.

"Julia. That's a nice name." He gulps, "I uh, I have to finish my chores before my dad gets back. Um, you can rest and watch tv until your ankle feels better?"

Juliana nods, "That is very kind of you-"

"It's Thomas, by the way. Thomas Smith." His expression is cordial if not a little timid as he runs off to the front yard.

She turns on the television, searching for any news. She watches a man called Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. talk about equality for all at a small gathering in front of a church. His voice is compelling, full of conviction. Juliana cannot peel her eyes away from the screen and she wonders if this man could learn to travel, would he change their world too? But then, she doesn't know if he is alive or not in her world. Given the brutality of the Nazis, she knows there is quite the probability he has an opening in their world. She feels a tear drip down her cheek as she listens to his ideologies. He gives her hope for her own world.

In the distance, she hears Thomas finish the lawn mowing and replacing the machine in the garage. He then comes back through the house to find her watching the news. He grins at her before going to the back yard to start raking the leaves.

When the Reverend Doctor finishes, Juliana decides to learn more about this world. She peruses the shelves of books in the living room, standing on one foot. She is overwhelmed by the sheer amount and diversity of them. A few books stand out to her, including a Bible, which she has only seen one other time in the Neutral Zone. There is a newer looking book, _To Kill A Mockingbird_. And one she thinks is most important, perhaps worth bringing back with her if possible: _The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich_. She takes it from the shelf and returns to the couch. As she reads, she finds herself caught up in memories of home. Before she realizes she is even getting tired, she drifts off to sleep.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith sits in his office, thumbing through a list of names and faces. Each picture has a large red slash through it. The list is much longer than John had realized. He knows he has been very effective at tracking resistance over the last ten years, but he is still surprised.

He is not sure they have the manpower to spare to ensure all these people are still dead when they are still actively looking into the assassination of Himmler. _Attempted_ assassination, he reminds himself. As of yet their Fuhrer is in a coma and holding on to life. Things in the Riech are as yet unchanged.

John does not know who he can trust with this information. It would likely be best for those who already know about the machine to be tracking potential travelers. He would have less to explain and they would understand the significance and classified nature of the project.

A few days is probably too long to be away while Hawthorne is being interrogated and tests are being done on the quantum transfer device. John mindlessly drums his fingers on the desk as he picks up the phone. "Yes, this is Reichsmarschall Smith. I need a flight out tonight. My assistant will handle the details. Heil Himmler."

He trades the phone for a cup of coffee, and drags his thumb slowly around the rim. His thoughts drift back to his family. Helen and his girls are gone and he cannot decide if he should chase after them or let them go. Are they truly safer away from him? Has he made a mistake? And then his thoughts unravel and find his deepest ache.

Through the myriad of emotions, his countenance becomes forlorn, then blank, then finally ends on veiled vengeance as he thinks about his son.

oOoOo

Juliana's dreams start pleasantly enough, being back home with Trudy. Then John Smith breaks into their house clas in his SS black trench coat. He shoots Trudy, then turns the gun on Juliana. His face his the same as she always remembers it-hardened, combative, eyes full of hate and destruction. He shoots her.

"Thomas, I'm home!"

Juliana wakes with a start. She moves too quickly and sends a sharp pain through her ankle. She lets out an uncontrolled cry.

"Thomas?" He calls down the hallway in a confused tone and she gulps. She closes her eyes and reminds herself that this is not the Reichsmarschall. This is not the murderous hunter, the wolf. This is not the man who shot her.

"I'm sorry," Juliana calls back, sitting up and straightening her skirt and blouse.

"Hello?"

The man who appears from the hallway is not at all who she expected, and yet it _is_ him. John Smith emerges with a salt dusted beard and charcoal hair disheveled. His is dressed in slacks and a button up shirt with a casual jacket. She remembers him dressed in similarly casual attire when she visited his house in the Reich. Her throat tightens.

"Hi, sir." She tries to keep the fear from her voice when her eyes flutter up to meet his. For a moment she is stunned. His countenance is confused but friendly and his eyes, Juliana realizes she never noticed the color of his eyes. She has felt his penetrative gaze and looked into the intense, soulless orbs. Here, she sees his eyes for the first time-they are crisp emerald and captivating.

"My name is Julia Mills." She finally finishes her introduction.

"Welcome to our home, Julia Mills." John grins at her, with a raised eyebrow. "But may I ask why you are here?"

"Oh that." Juliana is disarmed. This John exudes levity and she can't help but chuckle in his presence.

"Yes, that." He nudges, as he walks around the couch setting an old brown leather bag on the table. When he faces her in the living she sees there is still no menacing glare, no tight lipped grimace. Just a man wondering why this strange young woman is on his couch.

She sighs. "I was clumsy, actually. I twisted my ankle out on the sidewalk and your son, Thomas, was kind enough to let me come in and rest it." She tries to move her ankle again but cringes as it stings.

"Ah, I see. May I?" John motions to her ankle and she gestures her permission.

She wonders if he suspects a lie. Instead, he crouches down, focusing on her ankle. His motions are cautious as he removes the ice, and feels around gently. It is obviously swollen. Juliana didn't know what it would be like to be touched by this man. Obergruppenfuhrer Smith had always startled her like a wolf stalking its prey in the woods, triggering her amygdala responses, keeping her always on edge in his presence. This John has strong hands with a delicate touch.

John speaks compassionately, "That is quite the sprain, Miss Mills. It looks painful." He replaces the ice before he stands.

"I'm glad Thomas helped you in. It looks like you probably shouldn't walk on it for about a day or so." He puts a hand in his pocket, and gestures towards the phone on the wall with his other. In a consoling tone he asks, "Can I call someone for you?"

Juliana casts her face down. "I… No. There isn't anyone to call."

He pauses a moment to scan out the living room window and finds Thomas in the backyard raking the leaves. He suddenly has the air of a well-pleased father. He walks over to knock on the window, and Thomas looks up from his chores. He leans the rake against a tree and comes into the house through the back door.

"Dad! You're home." Thomas looked from his father to Miss Mills.

"I see you've been the caring young man I raised you to be." John couldn't help but beam.

"Well, it was that or leave Miss Mills on the sidewalk. That hardly seemed polite." The boy looks over at Julia. "Are you feeling any better?"

"I feel fine, although apparently I shouldn't walk for a day or two." She offers a small smile, eyes darting between John and Thomas. What would the Reichsmarschall think of all this? She notes a camera will need to be purchased and a film made. And for that, she will need a job.

"Is someone coming to get her?" Thomas asks his dad. "Or does she need a ride? I can drive!" He offers enthusiastically.

"She doesn't need another injury, Tom." John jests. He then turns back to Julia. "It sounds like you don't have anywhere to go?"

Juliana knows it is time to lay it on thick, to be the damsel in distress, revealing the broken wing.

"It's… a long story. I came out here to New York looking for work. But I… I was shot in Chinatown five days ago. Gangsters, they think." She sighs, as if to imply she has the worst luck.

Thomas exclaims, "Holy shit!"

John's mouth is agape in surprise. He closes it and gives Thomas a look before adding, "What he said. I'm glad you're alright but… should you even be up and about already?" His concern is palpable. She knows it is working.

Juliana brings her hands to her lap. "I don't' really have a choice. I came out to New York because I am looking for an old friend. I haven't heard from her in a while and this is the last place I got a postcard." John and Thomas are both leaning in, intrigued. "Anyway, she had told me to come look for a job out here a ways back and then we would get an apartment together. After… it happened, I was in the hospital and now I have bills to pay...So I came to a slower part of the city to visit local businesses and schools to see if they need any secretaries or office assistants."

Reichsmarschall had been right, she knew how to lie. It now all came on instinct. Here she sat, a spy from another dimension and across from her was a typical teenage boy and his father.

John looks lost in thought for a moment, before he pulls himself back to the room. "Thomas, can I speak to you for a minute?"

He stands and Thomas follows him to his office in the hallway. They don't close the door but whisper. Juliana can make out Thomas' voice more easily than his father's since it is higher and lacks John's low raspy quality.

She hears a few phrases: "I don't mind," "That's a good idea," and "You taught me to help others."

John and Thomas return, and Juliana looks up at them trying to seem anxious. "I should probably get back to my chores." Thomas says briefly, smiling at Juliana before heading back outside.

"Well, perhaps you could stay in my office. There is, a um…" Suddenly John looks a little awkward and uncomfortable.

"It's okay, Mr. Smith, I can call a cab and find a motel nearby." She slowly stands on one foot. John chortles and Juliana cannot help herself, she is incredibly fond of him.

"I'm sorry Miss Mills. It just felt uncouth to invite you to stay the night when I haven't even introduced myself." He looks over at her. "Hello, I'm John." He puts out a hand for her to shake.

"Well, now that we've been properly introduced, you are welcome to stay in my office. There is a twin bed there." He puts his hands in his pockets. "It isn't the most comfortable bed, but I've found myself on it a few times after late nights grading or reading."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith. I really am very appreciative. I'll find some way to repay you" She is getting a little tired of playing this pat, but she knows it has always affected him. For better or worse, it gets results from most men. She is almost grateful the other John pointed this out to her.

John shakes his head as he walks back over to his chair. "I get called Mr. Smith all day by my kids. I would prefer John."

"Your kids?" Her expression cannot conceal her curiosity. She knows Helen is dead in this world. "You're a teacher?"

He gestures to the books that line his walls. "I will let you guess the subject."

"Literature?" She finds herself extremely amused. What would Reichsmarschall Smith think of all these books? He would probably see to their burning himself.

"Indeed. I generally have to teach the classics, but it is nice to incorporate some of the more recent novels. They just connect better with the students." For the first time, he finds the book beside her. "Ah, now that is not something I think my class would enjoy, but it is a fascinating analysis. What did you think of it?"

Juliana glances at the book, then back at him. John is sweet, thoughtful, and talkative. She feels she really can trust him. "I did not get very far before dozing off, but it is rather intriguing. I never thought about how the Nazis came to power in the first place, the circumstances of near depression and growing nationalism in Germany."

"Yes. It seems people, governments specifically, regularly underestimate the extremes human beings go to when regularly disenfranchised… In the case of the Nazis, Hitler was able to capitalize on that and the growing nationalism while scapegoating the Jews, homosexuals, anyone really."

His voice deepens, hoarse and serious. It sounds so familiar, but lacks all of the animosity. "In comparison, you would think our government would realize that civil rights activists are not making unruly demands. In fact, the only reason people ever protest is to draw attention to places where the government is failing them." John becomes lost in thought, reflecting on the interconnectedness of fascism and rebellion.

"You sound like a teacher." She teases, returning him to the present moment.

"You are very right, and here I know nothing about you and I am droning on about politics." He smirks, his eyes full of passion. "I apologize if I have offended you."

"Not at all. I find it refreshing to hear someone speak so candidly about what is wrong with the government, especially concerning racism and civil liberties. It… wasn't like that where I grew up." She offers openly.

"From the south then?" He assumes.

Honesty, she thinks. "No actually, from California. San Francisco."

"Whew, I'm surprised. They're known for being quite liberal." He crosses his hands in his lap, and fidgets with his fingers a little.

"My family… they just don't think about how the government impacts everyone, and how it can be so much better. And I think they are afraid of change, even if it is for the better." Juliana met his eyes.

"That is common in most white families, I should think. We've had our say a long time." John sighs. As he looks at Miss Mills, he feels ever interested in her. She seems so intelligent and yet as though she might break if touched. Her demeanor seems confident and yet coy. She is a beautiful young woman, but what is she doing alone in New York?

"Anyway, you're probably hungry and in need of rest and not a philosophical tyrade." John stands.

"I can cook, if you have anything." Juliana offers.

"In your condition? I should think not. I'll order pizza." He calls Thomas in from the back yard.

"Pizza?" Thomas' enthusiasm is so young and carefree, where pizza is the best thing in the world.

"Pizza would be lovely." Juliana smiles, even though she has only had pizza a few times and has little idea what to expect.

"Great. I'll call in for delivery. Is pepperoni and sausage alright?" John reaches for the phone and the other two nod.

Juliana doesn't know how she will ever explain to anyone in her world about the father-of-the-year, liberal English teacher John Smith. Will she tell them about how he ordered pizza and let her stay in his extra room without knowing anything about her? Maybe she will tell them he is fiercely anti-fascist and supports civil rights, which given he is a white man in America isn't actually a given.

She reminds herself that however relieving this day has been, she has much to accomplish and very little time. If she doesn't do what needs to be done here, there may be no one back home left to tell.

oOoOo

 **Authors note: the domestic scenes got long but alas, I just want to capture the contrast. More first world stories coming. Reviews are welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Slow burn all, slow...slow burn ;) Reviews are appreciated! Enjoy.**

oOoOo

The German jets are a pinnacle achievement of Reich engineering, but they do make every flight just a little too short. John feels barely settled with his thoughts when they prepare to land. It will be about a 45 minute drive to the location of the singularity, which will give him plenty of time to get up to speed and strategize counter efforts against the Resistance.

"I hope you enjoyed your flight." The young attendant is beautiful, blue eyed and perfectly blond. John knows the government only hires picture perfect women of Aryan glory for their aircrafts. He feels a small desire within himself but snuffs it out. He has no time for such pleasures, and despite her running away with his girls, he is still married and intends to remain faithful to Helen until they sort this mess out.

"It was perfect, thank you." His chilly response is respectful but nothing more. He grabs his briefcase and descends to the car.

"Reichsmarschall!" The driver and his assistant here, Sturmbannführer Walter, both heil.

John acknowledges quickly and gets in the car.

"Report?" Smith says simply, leveling a shrewd stare at Walter..

"There has been no attempt to break in and rescue Hawthorne, sir. It seems capturing the group of rebels dissuaded them, but..." Walter pauses a moment and shifts in his seat.

"But?" Smith's tone becomes callously insistent. He also thinks Walter should know better than to act so nervous in his presence or he will not make it any further in the Reich.

"There is a film spreading, sir. We've apprehended a few dozen already." The Sturmbannführer tries to keep his voice even and confident.

"And what exactly is on this film?" John cocks his head sideways, his glare acts as a warning-he is not to be displeased.

"It is a propaganda film by the Resistance, sir. It shows the Reich falling and the Allies winning the war." Walter remains unapologetic as he tries to plainly relay the facts.

"You've seen the film?" Smith's menacing gaze is cold and hard as steel.

"Sir, it was playing at a theater when we made the arrests in town. We, me and a few of my men, saw part of the film." As the Reichsmarschall's eyes bore into him, he adds the simpler answer: "Yes, sir."

"It's alright, Walter." John's tight lips lack the reassurance he means to convey as he rubs his temple.

"There is more, sir." Walter forces himself to continue despite the darkening of John's expression. "There has been more graffiti and posters put up… not only by Resistance operatives. Many of them are put up by teenagers and normal citizens."

The Reichsmarschall's eyes narrow as he glances out the window. They have left the last town on the road and are beginning to wind through the mountains. They pass a few log cabins, but it is mostly barren forest. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh.

"There is nothing _normal_ about these people." His eyes flash at the younger man. "They may not be Resistance, but they are traitors. As such, they should be rounded up. Interrogated. And executed."

The young man gave a sharp nod. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He searches out Walter's expression. "Now, is that _all_ , Walter?"

"Almost, Reichsmarschall. Tests have continued on schedule with… varying success." Walter pauses, but John stays silent waiting for him to finish. "In most of the trials, every participant is unsuccessful. On some occasions, one may make it through."

Smith's tone is steady. "This is nothing new, Walter."

"We have noticed sir, that it seems the older participants or those who are defective due to genetics tend to make it through more frequently. Nothing statistically relevant yet, according to the analysts, but they are tracking the observation." Walter exhales, finally done reporting. He had heard the Reichsmarschall is an intensely intimidating man. He decides that he will be better prepared for these interactions in the future.

"An interesting observation, Sturmbannführer. Truly." Smith gives his inferior the slimmest of grins before looking out the window again.

He realizes Abe was probably telling the truth then: a person can only travel to a world where they are deceased or do not exist at all. It would seem that as long as he keeps killing Resistance operatives, he is unintentionally creating spaces for them to return. Of course, there is no way to know that people from the other worlds would even join the Resistance here. He will need to ponder their options further.

A Reich that doesn't defend itself by killing traitors is no Reich at all.

oOoOo

"I'm not sure these will fit, but hopefully it's comfortable enough." John hands her a pair of his sweat pants and a Beatles t-shirt.

"Thank you again, John." Juliana unconsciously bows her head a little. Some habits die hard.

"Good night, Miss Mills." He offers a final smile before turning to put out the lights.

"You can call me Julia, you know. I'm also not in the classroom." She looks over at him, with a coy smirk.

He offers a light chuckle at that. "Sleep well, Julia."

"You too, John." She gives a small smile before closing the door to his office.

As she hops over to the twin bed against the wall, she wonders how others are faring back home. She feels guilty getting to leave, to trade that place for this domesticity and safety. She knows she has a lot to do, but she wants to enjoy the process. She could have died in the other place afterall.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith glances down the hallway at the cell that was once holding Juliana Crain. He clenches his jaw knowing he should have killed her ages ago when he had the chance. First, she was a nuisance and a distraction to Joe Blake's mission of collecting the films. Then, she was a tool to gather intelligence about the dwindling Resistance in the Reich. Somehow in a matter of months, she had turned from the Resistance's main traitorous target to some semblance of a leader of the cause. He almost admires this transformation save for her continuous threat to his own standing in the Reich.

Dr. Josef Mengele greets him with a heil. The doctor seems a little more formal in his treatment of him since Smith's rank could rise at the death of the Fuhrer.

Smith walks by, giving approval and looking down the center of the machine.

"Reichsmarschall, welcome back." Dr. Mengele adds, following behind him.

"Thank you, Dr. Mengele." His stare intensifies as if he can will himself to see into another world. "Tell me, Doctor, how do you designate which world you will attempt to travel to?"

"Ah, yes, great question Reichsmarschall." Dr. Mengele's self-confidence is conspicuous as he replies with the madness of an inventor, gesturing with his hands to accompany his explanation.

"We attune based on the singularity, you see. Like the stars appear in different places depending on the movement of the globe, so also our ability to hone on far off worlds changes. We are tracking the pattern, although currently it is somewhat chaotic, rest assured, our greatest mathematicians are working on this issue!"

Smith is annoyed by his zeal, particularly because no one here seems to take Hawthorne's warning very seriously. They will send thousands to their deaths only to discover it does not work as they had imagined. He reminds himself the subjects are dead already, this is just their form of capital punishment. Still, he knows now that it is likely that so much death has made way for so many openings in their world. What if these Resistance operatives are able to bring more than just films back? What else could be coming?

The Reichsmarschall has a wonderfully awful idea.

oOoOo

Juliana's dreams are fraught with other memories of other worlds. In one, she sees Joe as an executioner shooting Frank and then her. In another, she sees an older Frank dressed as a rabbi, teaching. She sees Tagomi in his home from her world kiss a woman she does not know after playing a game of renju. In her last dream, she is about to be shot by the Reichsmarschall, only he turns into John and hands her a sunflower instead.

She slowly opens her eyes, remembering where she is in her bed in John's extra room. She enjoys the last dream, picturing this John Smith giving her flowers. Her heart flutters a moment before she calms herself.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Reichsmarschall stands in all his splendor of Nazi regalia.

"You thought you'd get away from me so easily, Miss Crain?" His eyes dance at having caught up to his prey.

"How did you…?" Her heart races, dismayed and very much afraid.

His lips turn up at the edges as he looks down at her. His boots click along the wood floor with purposeful steps.

"You'll never know." He bares his teeth as he grabs her neck in his hands, squeezing so tightly she knows this is the end.

Juliana wakes with cry and silences the alarm beside the bed. Her hands instinctively go up as she rubs over her neck slowly. The dreams all felt so real. She lays in bed a few minutes to collect her thoughts, knowing that some of what she saw could be potential worlds or even glimpses into her own world. She attempts to ground herself in her present world, to meditate as she learned from Tagomi, Hawthorne, and Trudy. She begins to feel peace and she holds onto it as one might a rope dangling over the edge of a cliff. She senses her connection to her world, a wanderer finding the path back home. She stays away from the path, but wonders a moment if it is safe. Hawthorne had assured her that the Nazis would find it particularly challenging to travel between worlds without aide. He said their ideologies of superiority were not compatible with the collective consciousness required for such travels-they could never be one with the cosmos when they despised so much of humanity.

There is an unassuming knock on the door. "Juliana, I'm sorry to disturb you. Um, I made a call into my office and there might be a position available. If you can be ready in thirty minutes, I can drive you over with me this morning to meet the principal."

"Alright," She calls back, "And thank you John."

John is happy to hear her voice, leaning against the wall beside the door in his pajama pants and grey t-shirt, and he wants to tell her as much. But then he reminds himself that she is a poor woman who has been through hell and that he is only being generous as he would hope others would treat him in similar circumstances-she owes him nothing.

"There is toast and cereal in the kitchen. I'll be upstairs getting ready." He yells as he walks back to his room.

"Okay. I'll be out soon if you need to get in here." She responds loudly, sitting on the edge of the bed in John's sweats and Beatles shirt.

The clothing feel as comfortable as this world does. She looks over at his desk with novels piled high and papers a mess. She did not want to snoop, but unlike her world, she knew here it would merely be rude and not necessarily lead to a hostile conversation. Despite herself, she walks over and thumbs through the papers. She knows she shouldn't be surprised by what she sees, as this is not the Reichsmarschall. But she cannot hold in her delight when she discovers pages of a novel in the works. Feeling her stomach grumble, she does not read very far, only enough to know that it begins with a man at war and she makes a mental note to ask him about it another time when they know each other better.

She only has the one outfit, the same thing she has on when shot, although Nurse Eliza had kindly her a new blouse to replace the one with blood on it.

"Good morning Thomas." She emerges from the office to see him sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. She picks up the box to see a bright orange tiger with a red handkerchief.

"Good morning, Julia." He says, finishing a bite. "Need me to get you a bowl?"

"That would be very helpful, thanks." She hobbles to the closest chair. Thomas brings her a bowl, spoon, and the milk.

"I heard you're coming to school with us today." Thomas' boyhood interest was evident, but Juliana doesn't blush.

"I am. Your father thinks they might have need for a secretary."

"Oh, they certainly do Miss Mills." John descends the stairs. Juliana is not yet used to seeing him in casual clothes, and notes the leather boots tucked under his dark jeans, white button up shirt and corduroy jacket with a little fur collar.

"Julia," he adds upon seeing her quizzical expression.

"Thank you again, truly. You two are very kind to take me in. Hopefully, I can find a room to rent nearby, provided I get the job."

"Why not stay here?" Thomas asks feigning ignorance.

"Now, Tom. It really isn't appropriate for Julia to stay here very long. You know that." John's fatherly tone is not too different from the Reichsmarschall's, and Juliana feels a chill down her spine. He isn't harsh, but the similarity to the dinners she spent with his family in their world is unnerving.

Thomas' enthusiasm deflates and he finishes his cereal quietly.

"I'll ask around." John adds, pouring himself a bowl. When he is done, he takes their dishes to the sink and begins to wash. "I forgot, but I think we may have some crutches in the garage. Tom sprained his ankle a couple years ago playing soccer. I'll see if I can find them for you."

"Showing up to a job interview in crutches would be a first." She smirked.

"Nonsense. Besides, I already mentioned you had been injured. Fortunately, a secretary is primarily sedentary so you could start whenever they hire you." He glances over his shoulder offering a reassuring smile.

" _If_ they hire me." She corrects.

The ride to the school is pleasant enough. Thomas yields his front seat, a little irritated his dad isn't letting him practice driving. They share more information about the school to help Juliana prepare for the interview. She tries to stay focused. If she can ingratiate herself at the school quickly, her plan will go off without a hitch. If not, she may have to show her hand sooner rather than later.

Once they park, John points out the office. "Good luck." He and Thomas say in unison.

Thomas heads off to the gym to get in a work out before class, his routine since they always have to get there horrendously early. John hangs back a moment and walks with Julia.

"You can take a bus home, it's the 17 and picks up on the corner over there." He gestures, and gulps hoping she doesn't notice his anxious tone. "You're also welcome, if you want to of course, to sit in my classroom until the school day is over. I can work from home after instead of staying late on campus."

He catches her eyes and finds a twinkle that thrills him. She replies, "That would be wonderful. I'll sneak in between periods after I'm done."

He nods and mutters "break a leg" a little too quietly, as if he thinks it might be inappropriately soon to joke about her injury. She giggles to herself nonetheless.

oOoOo

 **Author Confession: I may or may not have been inspired by John's outfit from R.F. in front of his alt-reality car on instagram.**


	5. Chapter 5

Reichsmarschall finds himself back in Juliana's cell. He knows he should move on, but he is fascinated by her, by them, the travelers.

"Sir, Abendsen refuses to describe the films in detail." Smith glances over at Walter, displeasure plainly across his face. Walter continues, "But he said another one will be here soon, in a week or two."

"She's coming back." He mutters, turning on his heel. Walter follows him out.

"Will she return back here?" Walter asks, concerned.

"I don't know. We will have to find out." He enters Hawthorne's cell.

"I knew you liked her, John. I just had no idea how much you _cared_." Abendsen looks up at him. He has blood around his nose and mouth from his last conversation. John glances down and sees Walter's scraped and bloody knuckles. His mouth turns up. Loyalty is hard to find.

"Give us a moment." Smith says and Walter leaves.

"So, you want to know where your little bird will flutter back to, hmm?" Hawthorne's tone is taunting, and Smith cannot imagine how this man always manages to stay a few steps ahead even locked up. He _must_ be a traveller, or have some other secret source of knowledge he is not sharing, not yet anyway.

"She's your puppet, isn't she? You ought to know what she plans to do." Smith crosses his arms and leans back, pretending not to be so incensed by Abedsen's attitude. He will play along until he gets what he wants, then this man is done for.

"Ah, that implies I can even see the strings… No, Juliana goes her own way more often than not. When she defected, which I may have prodded or planted the idea, I had no idea how much she would grow to care for your little family. It was rather...inconvenient." Abendsen appears to be telling the truth, his bloodshot, exhausted eyes aren't hiding anything when they search out John's.

"Johnny boy… can't you see that? That she is trying to help you as much as everyone else?"

Smith's patience is wearing thin. "And why, pray tell, do you all think I need help?"

Abendsen shakes his head. "You can't fool me, John. You've seen the films. You know _he_ is alive out there. You know there is a _space_ here… and you know there is a you, a _million_ yous, who would hate what you've become _here_." Hawthorne's tone is almost patronizing.

"There is only _one_ me that matters, Hawthorne. The one who will decide the fate of your wife's life." The words leave his mouth coated in imminent danger, his threat not lost on Abendsen.

"Let me see her." Hawthorne insists.

"Tell me where Juliana will return." Smith's words are punctuated with rancor.

"I don't know exactly… but I imagine she means to return here, actually." He meets John's gaze, his pale blue eyes defiant.

"That seems too easy." Smith unfolds his arms.

"She isn't trying to run from you, John. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can stop wasting all our time… and save my fucking wife" Hawthorne lays back in the bed to indicate he is done talking. John is frustrated by the power these rebellious travelers hold over him.

"Don't get too comfortable." Smith nearly spat as he turns to leave.

"No need for _shock_ and awe, John. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I think the time for keeping secrets might be over soon enough." Abendsen hollers after him.

The door slams shut, ending their conversation.

oOoOo

"Congratulations, Miss Mills. We look forward to having you." The Principal, Mr. Jackson, leans over his desk to shake Juliana's hand.

It was a surprisingly simple interview. Although she is still confused why John told Mr. Jackson they were good friends. It seems Mr. Smith really did want her to get the job. She smiles at the thought as she leaves the office on her crutches.

The office administrator, Susan McMurphy, pulls out the chair at the desk beside her as Juliana comes out of the office. "I hear you're starting today!" She exclaims excitedly.

Mr. Jackson follows and responds, "Actually, I am going to let Miss Mills start next week, give her time to rest up."

Mrs. McMurphy looks a little discontented at the news.

"Don't worry, Mrs. McMurphy. We will have help in the office soon enough!" Mr. Jackson smiles. He clearly has a positive rapport with the school staff.

"Oh, alright Bill. I guess I can wait three more days." Mrs. McMurphy turns to Juliana. "I'm glad you're joining us either way, dear." Her expression is warm and kind.

Juliana nods, "Me too. Now if I can just find a room nearby."

"Oh, I think our nurse was looking for someone. Let me ask her and I'll give you a call later today." McMurphy leans over her desk to schedule it.

"Thank you all very much. I should probably go rest. I will see you Monday morning Mr. Jackson, Mrs. McMurphy."

"We are looking forward to it." Mr. Jackson says as he holds open the office door for her.

Juliana wanders down the hall and finds room 128. She leans against the lockers outside, knowing she has about 10 minutes until the end of first period. The interview had been casual, apparently they were more concerned with her immediate skills than her work history. She told them she had been a nanny back west for a well to do Japanese family, but had morphed into something of an assistant for them before they went back to Japan. She didn't have any letters of recommendation or persons to call, but spoke some Japanese to add authenticity. She feels a twinge of guilt at the web of lies she is spinning, but she knows it is mostly inconsequential here. She has to do her duty.

oOoOo

John glances up at the clock, counting down the seconds. 3, 2, 1. The bell rings.

"See you all Monday!" His students are in uproar. Fridays are always a little chaotic.

He looks over at the door, waiting. His mouth has gone a little dry in anticipation. He wonders if maybe she is too tired and opted to take the bus home. As he is about to busy himself rearranging items for the next class, she swings around the door.

"How'd it go?" He walks over and gestures to a desk at the side of the classroom for her.

"I start on Monday." She falls into the seat, glad to be off her ankle again. "I really am grateful." Her lashes flutter a little when she looks up at him.

John grins. "I knew they would take to you. The school really does need the help."

"John… Mr. Jackson said you told him we were longtime friends?" She raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

He shifts his weight, a little uncomfortable. He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. "I guess I thought it would be simpler than saying, 'oh, her? She sprained her ankle in front of my house and because she is pretty, my son invited her inside and to stay the night.'"

Juliana laughs, a true, full laugh with abandon. It is the most absurd situation, and it is working. Plus, he _did_ just say she is pretty.

"You're right… that would be completely ridiculous."

John runs a hand through his messy hair. Juliana thinks it looks good less tidy and wonders what the Reichsmarschall would think if she went back and told him so.

"I should get ready for the next class. We will be discussing _To Kill A Mockingbird_. Have you read it yet?"

Juliana shakes her head. "No, but I saw a copy at your home."

He goes to his desk to retrieve the same copy from his bag. "I've already read it three times… you can borrow my copy." As she takes it, their fingers brush a moment, and she looks down.

"Thank you."

The bell rings signally the break is over. Juliana begins reading as the room fills up and she glances up just in time to see John look away.

She is very much looking forward to Mr. Smith's lesson for the day.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith sits in yet another office above the quantum transfer device. It is smaller than the one in New York, but features all the usual decor.

He is looking again at the list of Juliana's deceased "confederates." He remembers killing a number of them himself in his earlier days. It's been a while since he pulled the trigger, but the faces are still familiar from all the reports. He knows there have been many travellers already, given there have been so many films based on the burned down barn they found at Abendsen's old residence, as well as those that Hitler had collected. He sighs, and looks out the small window. The elevation and the fact that the building is built into the cliffside provide a beautiful mountainous view.

He leans back in his black, leather chair and closes his eyes as he remembers a camping trip with his father spent fishing, hiking, climbing trees and exploring a similar looking range closer to home.

As his memory fades, his mind forces a glimpse of something else into view. Suddenly, he is sitting at a dinner table in a small house. Thomas is sitting beside him. Smith stares at his son, unwilling to pry his eyes away, but the vision shifts to across the table.

 _Juliana Crain_.

He wants to grab hold of her, but he can't. Instead, he hears his voice say, "How are you feeling about your first day tomorrow?"

"Excited, actually." She serves herself some salad. They're also having pork chops and mashed potatoes. Smith notices two books on the table. He tries to read the titles but the him there is not focusing on them and so neither can he.

"I, uh, found you a room. Nurse Krendel called and said she does have a space since her son went away to college."

"Rhymes with Grendel," mutters Thomas.

John glares at his son again.

"Sorry, dad." He says, looking up from his food.

Reichsmarschall Smith wants to reach over and touch his boy but he can't control this body and he hates it. He feels trapped as he can only watch.

"Oh, thank you." Smith is sure he hears disappointment in Juliana's voice. "You really need to stop trying to take care of me, John. I don't have any way to repay your kindness."

"Well, there is one way." He teases.

He peers into Juliana's eyes, scanning them and finds a genuine fondness there, if not something more.

The vision dissolves and he feels like he is falling from a large height.

Reichsmarschall Smith snaps back to his present reality. He looks around the room, certain that he has not travelled. He wonders if he was somewhere between fantasy and a dream at the beginning of dozing off. Juliana was there… and he was eating dinner with her. There were two books. He wants to write it all down before he forgets the details and reaches for a pen, but as soon as he touches the paper, he pauses. He knows just how dangerous something like this could be for him if found out. He rests his chin on his left palm. Unknowingly, he plays with the pen in his right hand, slowly running his thumb over it.

Was that his Juliana Crain? _His_ Juliana. The thought sickens him. Whoever that man is in that other world or fantasy, it is not him.

oOoOo

"There is one way." John teases across the dining table, then quickly realizes how inappropriate that sounds and coughs.

Juliana tenses as the scene feels eerily familiar. She remembers the awkward, unnerving drive from the Reich citizenship building to her new apartment with Obergruppenfuhrer Smith and the dangerous game they were playing then. She remember this is _not_ him.

She sighs her relief. "Okay, I guess I will have to help with your school play…"

"Don't sound so hard pressed." John laughs.

"I was planning on going out for the school play! I'm actually pretty excited we are doing _Julius Caesar._ " Thomas says excitedly.

"I know, and now the costumes won't be sown by Nurse Krendel." John smirks.

"Thank goodness. Last year's were horrendous."

"Indeed." John agrees.

As they finish eating, Juliana scoops up her two books and sets them on the couch before getting started on the dishes.

"It will be a shame to not have your cooking anymore." Thomas jests and John shoots him a look.

"Your dad can't be _that_ bad." Juliana smiles to herself as she scrubs.

"Oh, I am. But thank you for suggesting otherwise." He carries in the last of the dishes and continues, "You don't have to clean, you cooked."

"And you let me stay here a few nights free _and_ paid for the food. It's the least I can do." She insists and he leaves it at that.

"I have some homework to do tonight. Thank you very much for the wonderfully edible dinner, Julia." Thomas grins.

"Hah-hah!" John retorts as his son hurries up the stairs. He turns on the television and settles on the couch to watch the news. After a commercial, the reporter begins.

The news anchor stood in front of a decimated white church building, saying, " _A bomb severely damaged a Negro church today in Birmingham, Alabama during Sunday school services, killing four Negro girls and setting off racial rioting and other violence in which two Negro boys were shot to death. Fourteen Negroes were injured in the explosion. One Negro and five whites were hurt in the disorders that followed."_

"Dear God." John jumps up, hands balled into fists at his side. Juliana is already next to him with a hand over her mouth.

" _Later, police shot dead a Negro youth after he threw stones at passing cars. Another Negro boy, aged 13, was shot dead while riding a bicycle."_

"How could this happen?" She gasps.

"Those racist fucks. This whole damn country… it's a mess. We have to… we need to do something!" He does not realize he has raised his voice significantly.

Juliana stares at him. Despite his sloppy curled hair and his graying beard, there is a familiar fierceness in him. She wonders where it will lead.

" _Some 500 National Guardsmen in battle dress stood by at armories here tonight, on orders of Gov. George C. Wallace. And 300 state troopers joined the Birmingham police, Jefferson County sheriff's deputies and other law-enforcement units in efforts to restore peace."_

"Do what, John?" She honestly doesn't know and feels worried. She is learning about this world, but she still has no idea what people here are like when injustice and tragedy strike.

"March."

oOoOo

 **Thank for reading this far! Please review if you're still here ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

John and Juliana spend a couple hours talking about the realities of discrimination in America, the ideals of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and the need for lasting change. Juliana admires this John. He is passionate, echoing the other version of himself, but he is compassionate too. He cares deeply for people and he will do what he can to teach and empower his students to be advocates and co-conspirators in changing the world. He is rebellious and a little subversive in what he teaches, and she knows that he could help the Resistance cause, lead it even. But then her pesky mind must tell her that there is not a space for him back there.

They both drift to sleep on the couch, but John eventually wakes her.

"I don't think this will provide a very good night's sleep before your first day." His whisper tickles her ear, and her eyes search his for something more. She mostly finds the tiredness of a teacher who has a long week of work ahead of him. He puts out a hand to help her up which she takes gladly. His strong hands around hers leaves her breathless, and suddenly is craves the taste of his lips and wonders what it would be like.

"Good night." She mumbers groggily instead and moves pass him to her room.

"Good night, Julia." He pauses by her door, wanting to go in, wanting her. He feels like a teenage boy with heart a flutter. This wonderful, random woman quite literally fell into their lives and suddenly he wishes he were fifteen years younger.

He heads up the stairs to bed and lets his body's clear instinctive reflexes die down before drifting off, hoping for pleasant dreams.

Julia looks at the ceiling, wondering if he is just over her. She drifts off to sleep, still in his sweats and shirt, for her last night at the Smith residence.

On their morning drive to school, John notices out of the corner of his eye that Juliana is fixing her skirt nervously for the third time in the car this morning.

"You look great." He mutters, giving her a side smile so he can stay focused on the road.

Her lips turn up graciously, stunned that he noticed. "I'm just glad they had a few nice things that fit me at the Salvation Army."

He had driven Juliana to the thrift store on Saturday to buy a few items for work. He also noticed her red lipstick this morning, but felt it inappropriate to comment on it, which he is finding oddly troublesome just how much he is having to censor himself a lot around her. He wonders if it might be easier when she leaves.

Thomas wishes Juliana a great first day and meets up with some friends to jog the track.

"He's a great boy." Juliana comments noticing how John beams whenever he watches his son.

"He really is. He makes me a better man." He says as he grabs his brown leather bag from the back seat.

"I'm counting on it." She whispers, watching Thomas run, hoping that he is fully well in this world. "I better be off, John."

He walks over to her. "Right. Have a good first day. And I can take you over to Mrs. Krendel's tonight."

Juliana would really enjoy that, but she needs a little space from him right now. In part because she needs to formulate her plan without his distracting charm, and in part because she finds herself in an odd predicament. She cannot stay here, and she has no intention of breaking anyone else's heart through her role in the Resistance.

"I think I'll just collect my bag at the end of the day and ride home with her. Seems easiest." Her expression begins determinedly but softens as she had no intention of rejecting him outright.

His cheekbones are further accentuated by his charismatic grin. "Right again. Well, I'll see you back here tonight then." He wants to watch her walk off but instead heads straight to his classroom, very much in need of the distraction.

"You are a God send, dear!" Mrs. McMurphy exclaims. Apparently Juliana is very good at filing, typing, and all other office tasks Mrs. McMurphy would rather not do while she talks to parents, teachers, and anyone else who will listen to her. Juliana doesn't mind as the busy work occupies her thoughts, grounding her in the present.

At second period, Juliana goes around to pick up the attendance forms. As she walks through the halls of the school, she lets the colors was over her. There are bright blue lockers with student paintings and event posters above them. Some students have put stickers on their locker doors, demarcating them as their own. No school in the Reich could possibly look this warm and inviting. She slowly stops near room 128 for a moment, taking a deep breath before she opens the door cautiously. She gives Mr. Smith a smile while reaching for the attendance slip. He barely looks at her, just offering a nod of thanks before he goes back to writing the major themes of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ on the board. She plans to finish the book over her lunch break so they can discuss more about it throughout the week.

The rest of the day goes just as smoothly, and a little after 5 o'clock, she heads out to meet him. John leans against the front of his car, hands in his pockets waiting for her. He is alluring as ever and she almost regrets that she is not staying with them anymore.

"Your bag, miss." He lifts up the beautiful blue canvas overnight bag that he is loaning to her.

"Thank you, kind sir." As she takes it, she lets her fingers linger on his. He looks down into her captivating eyes and slowly, despite himself, lets go of the bag. Her coy smirk widens once she turns away from him, letting her hips sway a little more to counterbalance the weight of the bag of course.

Pursuit is in part about playing hard to catch.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith stood with hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window in his New York office. He hears the door open and turns just enough to witness the Sturmbannführer's heil, returning to view the city.

"Sir, she has been spotted."

It takes all of John's self control not to rush over to this messenger. "Close the door, Hans."

Sturmbannführer Hans moves quickly, handing Smith the file. When he opens it, his breath catches at the sight of her and his girls.

"That will be all." He says to a man who now seems so very far away.

"Sir…" Hans doesn't move immediately, but one obstinate glare from Smith has him turning tail and he is out the door in half a second.

Alone in his office, Smith falls into one of the plush leather chairs and runs his fingers over her picture, stroking her face. If he closes his eyes, he can almost smell her, his Helen. He flips through the photos, lingering his gaze on each of his beautiful girls, blinking away the tears that threaten to gather. Jennifer and Amy are wearing matching amber dresses as if they are merely out and about on a fall holiday. Finally, he looks at the city of their last sighting: Nashville, Tennessee. He knows he could be there in an hour on a jet if he leaves immediately, but he stays in his chair looking longingly at his family, _most_ of his family.

He recalls his dream, with Juliana and Thomas sitting at a table eating pork chops and mashed potatoes. He recognizes the frivolity of dwelling on such things, but his heart refuses to allow his thoughts to transition to more practical endeavors. He is trapped in that half memory, looking between his lovely boy and this woman who has been a barb in his side from day one. He had tried to use her, but she seems to always get the upper hand.

Lost in thoughts of frustration and failure, he catches another glimpse of another world.

Smith sees Thomas sitting next to him and across from Juliana. He hears his son's voice, "Will you come with us, Julia?" He sees hope in the boy's expression. Smith's ears perk up at 'Julia,' the name he gave her when she defected to the Reich.

"I'm not sure..." Juliana looks at John, and for a moment he is fascinated by her. He hates her, but he must admit she is intelligent, cunning, and today in this fantasy, rather pretty. She knows how attractive she is, and she knows how to play the demure damsel in distress with ease. She is so adept at her role, and he remembers telling her as much.

"Don't pressure her, Tom." John says.

"But dad, you're always saying that 'the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'" Smith bristles at Thomas' unruly tone.

"He is right." Her doe eyes irritate Smith even more. "I'll go."

John responds, "We were planning to make signs Thursday night and leave Friday after school. We should make it there in time for the march on Saturday."

Thomas is grinning, proud of the decisions they are making. Smith stares at his son's face, the longing continues to build.

Then he has returned, trapped in his own damn world. The memories, visions, daydreams seem to center on his deepest failures… the Resistance leader he should have killed, and the one person who swore he would protect.

He looks down, back at the picture of Helen. He remembers his promise to her like it was yesterday: " _Will I ever see him again?" She had pleaded on the verge of tears. "When, and if, it is safe." He had callously replied._

But he failed all of them. He chose to save his country, to prevent a nuclear war, instead of save his own son.

Juliana _is_ stronger than she wants people to know, and he continues to underestimate her. The Reichsmarschall will not make the same mistake again.

oOoOo

"I'll be at your house after work on Thursday, then." Juliana takes another bite of her sandwich.

John tries to tamper the thrill he feels at her willingness to join them. This woman affects him so. When he watches or listens to her, she echoes something familiar, something comfortable. Her pretend shyness is so fun and flirtatious and even though he knows she isn't so timid, he will not push her too far too quickly. When she wants to truly open up to him, he will be waiting.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith has been reviewing candidates for a few days now. He is finding it hard to narrow in on a handful he thinks he could trust amidst the present uncertainty. Would any suspect these men are not his SS subordinates? Himmler is still in the hospital, and Großadmiral Karl Dönitz has been made interim Chancellor. He could move in at any minute to seal the deal and claim himself as Fuhrer. Soon everything they know about the films, the quantum transfer device, and the travellers could be revealed to a barbarous warmonger.

Himmler may have the audacity to think he can conquer other worlds, but Dönitz would destroy this one.

John finally selects five men and he buzzes for Sturmbannführer Hans.

"Sir." Hans heils.

"Get me these men." He hands him four pictures. "And you will escort them west."

"Reichsmarschall?" Hans stands straight, the depiction of a splendid soldier-a man of discipline, loyalty, strength, and sound mind.

Smith scans the physique of this younger, lower ranking man wondering if it is even possible? "Hans… you are going to learn to travel with them."

"These are defectives, sir. They are to be released from their suffering tomorrow."

"Yes, Hans. And you are going to see to it that the Resistance gets them out." Smith raises an eyebrow, demonstrating his annoyance at being challenged on the matter.

"And then you will induct them into the SS. We have use of them yet, despite their conditions." Smith knows it is actually because of their conditions that they are useful.

"Yes, sir."

"Now." Smith's voice cuts the air like a dagger and Hans complies.

Alone in his room again, he clasps his hands before him and looks at his old Captain's metal from the American army. His comment to Kido rises up to plague his psyche.

" _I keep it as a reminder of the consequences of the failure of command."_

oOoOo

Thank you for reading this far! Please review, they keep me excited and writing! And sorry for the slow, slow burn. I promise it is coming ;)


	7. Chapter 7

The drive is a long one, and conversation drifts to many topics. John and his son speak mostly about changing history when Thomas isn't napping, as he is now.

"Julia…" John begins quietly and with hesitation.

Juliana questions him with her sympathetic gaze.

"Why are you here?" It takes great strength to keep his voice balanced.

She is jolted by the frankness of his question. She never expected he would be so forthright, and she had thought things were going so smoothly.

"I want to see a better world." She keeps it simple, for now. It is far too soon to talk of other things, but she doesn't want to lie to him.

"I meant…" He sighs.

She wishes he would look at her, but he is driving and that would be unwise. He does turn to her momentarily, eyes sharp and serene. She finds herself enveloped in the green caverns, knowing that behind them is a keen mind that is not so easily abated. She remembers going tête-à-tête with his doppelganger, and the sudden familiarity is almost quivering but she stays the course.

"I like you and Thomas. You have been so good to me, and I don't know anyone in New York. It's… nice, to be around such a sweet family."

John doesn't respond, not immediately. He is not sure what he expects to hear. He is bad at this-courting. It has been a long time since he even wanted to attempt it.

"I'm so glad you sprained your ankle." He grips the steering wheel, fingers tightening strongly around it in his newfound sense of awkwardness.

"Me too." She smiles as she looks out the window, scanning the countryside. The sun is setting, and she knows they still have another few hours to go. A calmness settles between them.

"Me too." She repeats softly.

oOoOo

The halls of the mountain fortress are sterile as Reichsmarschall Smith heads towards the room where the new recruits are being kept. Hans has been efficient in executing a "Resistance" attack on the medical truck, retrieving these four defectives.

When Smith pushes open the door, he is astonished to see four thoroughly Aryan young men standing at attention in SS uniforms. It would have been such a waste to merely send them to incineration. He shoves away any thought of his son's similar fate.

The men click their heels and cry, "Seig Heil!"

With hands clasped in front of him, a chuckle escapes Smith's throat before he can stop. "Well done, Sturmbannführer." He reviews the young soldiers before him and knows that despite their experience with Reich law, their Nazi ideology is largely intact. Although none of them have served, they had each aspired to join the SS but either failed the cut or the medical examination. How ironic that it was their desire to serve their country that almost led them to their own demise.

Smith walks up to the tallest of them, about 6' 4. "Your name, son?"

The man stands erect instinctively and stares straight ahead. "Klaus, Reichsmarschall, sir!" He shouts fanatically.

The corners of Smith's thin lips turn up slightly, his stare unwavering. He asks in his guttural voice, "And what oath do you make?"

"I swear loyalty to the Reich's cause and obedience to the Reichsmarschall, until death, sir!"

Smith's expression is veiled though holding hollows of madness deep within.

"Very good."

oOoOo

John pulls into a motel parking lot near the main street in Birmingham. They had called ahead, but only one room is available. The city is busier than usual as people are preparing for tomorrow's events. They get the keys from the attendant and carry their bags up to the room. It's 3 a.m. and everyone is exhausted from the drive.

"Tom, you and I will be over here." He gestures to the bed nearest the door.

"Do you mind if I use the restroom first?" Juliana asks, stifling a yawn.

"Go ahead, I may just pass out." Thomas flops on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. He is clearly very excited about tomorrow but needs time to rest.

John just nods as she steps into the bathroom.

While she showers, he wonders what she looks like as the water hit her skin. His chest begins to heave with shorter, sharper breaths as his imagination wanders to the things he wishes to do to her, for her, with her. He gulps, rubbing his thumbs he feels his hands beginning to sweat.

He stands abruptly, "I'm going to take a short walk. Stretch my legs a bit." He says to Thomas, whose eyelids are drooping heavily.

"Mmhmm," his son responds.

He stands outside looking over the city in darkness, dragging slowly on a cigarette. It is a terrible habit, and he always means to kick it. But alas, desperate times.

When John returns, Juliana is in bed and he can make out the Beatles t-shirt over the covers. He is glad she still likes wearing it.

"Your turn. I promise you'll feel much better." She mutters, still reading _The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich._

"I imagine so." He brings his pajamas into the restroom.

He strips, revealing the body of an athletic man, not bulky but toned. He looks at himself in the mirror and realizes his beard has gotten a little shaggy. He feels slightly embarrassed that he has been looking so unkempt around her. As he gets the clippers, different muscles flex as he maneuvers them around his jaw. He is not a vain man, but he needs to see his physique and enjoy his overall appeal. He needs to be confident tomorrow because he needs to ask her on a proper date, after… after the marching. After the real reason he is here: to join with those who would speak out against segregation and all forms of government institutionalized racism. He nearly scolds himself for thinking of such frivolous things in the present dire circumstances.

He steps into the shower, keeping it icy cold. He needs his body to comply and he needs to get some sleep. Despite his exhaustion, laying with her one bed over could be _quite_ troubling.

When he emerges from the bathroom, she barely glances at him. Upon seeing his face, she she drops the book.

"Do you like it?" He asks almost shyly.

The beard had served as a shield, a frequent reminder that this is _not_ the same John Smith. Now, with it completely gone, Juliana is startled by the resemblance to the Reichsmarschall. She does not hear his question as her brain is burning with a flurry of images of him shooting her, strangling her, trying to kill her a million different ways.

He coughs a little, bringing a hand subconsciously to rub the back of his neck. In his sudden bashfulness, she forces herself into the present.

"Do you, uh, like it?" He repeats.

She realizes she has been staring at him without a response, and she tries to soften her expression enough to smile.

"It's… different." She doesn't know what to say. She is uncomfortable looking at him, then she catches the sparkle in his hazel eyes and notices his slight frown.

"Good different" She adds.

His lips tug up in the corners. He sighs. "Maybe it was a bit impulsive."

He puts his things away before getting into the bed.

"It looks good." Juliana says again.

"Thanks for being nice." He replies, "Good night."

As he gets in bed, he lays on his side facing the door. He considers rolling over to see if she is looking at him still. Instead, he closes his eyes and does his best to get a good night's sleep.

oOoOo

Juliana dresses in the bathroom while the Smiths dress in the room. She hears John holler, "All clear" in a teasing tone, indicating they are decent.

She steps out, tingling with uneasiness. Although she has fought for the Resistance in her own world, never has she done anything so public in opposition to the government. Looking at John is unnerving. His features are all much softer, gentler, kinder than his other self, but something about the freshly shaven face and black jacket are all too familiar. Juliana has to constantly focus on the task at hand to contrast this John with the other.

When they leave their motel room, they see crowds are already walking to the starting point of the march. They descend the stairs and follow the dozens of people walking down the mainstreet with similar signs. Juliana looks at the ones they carry, "Voting Rights for All," "End School Segregation," "Equal Rights! Equal Education!" John's expression is somber, and a tear almost forms in Juliana's eye at the look of a man full of conviction fighting for the right cause.

She sees people of different ethnicities gathering together, talking and sharing about their journey to Birmingham. Many drove through the night just to join the march. Something about the ideology of the country at this moment, something about the people taking up the cause, opens the way for a conversation she thought impossible in her world.

Juliana isn't naive enough to believe everything will go smoothly in this world. She knows fascism and hate will continuously try to rise again, but she also sees something here she has never seen before: love of country compelling people to love one another.

They join the crowd at the starting point, and they begin to march and chant. They follow the black leaders at the front, many of them from different local religious communities.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a woman carrying a camera, filming the event.

For an hour, they march. The police stand on the edge, batons raised but otherwise not interfering, not yet. Some of the white people of Alabama shout slurs and call names at the men and women marching. Their behavior is more familiar to Juliana. At one point, her, John and Thomas are near the edge of the marchers, insulating the people of color more from the hate outside.

A man screams at her from behind a police officer, "You mother fucking cunt! Negro-loving whore!"

She keeps her head down, no reason to cause more trouble. John steps behind her, moving her more to the middle, his body acting as a shield.

"Julia, are you alright?" He asks, pausing from his shouting. His voice is scratchy and hoarse, although she remembers how it often has that raspy tone to it.

"I'm alright." Her expression is confident and she continues in stride with the marchers. She knows that despite the calls, this is not about her. She notices that when the men shout obscenities, a few of the officers smirk. Their callousness reminds her of the world she left, where hostility in the "right" direction is completely acceptable, normalized for over half the globe.

"We're nearing the church." John lifts his head trying to see over the crowd.

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. begins to speak. A hush falls over as he condemns the hateful acts of those who wish to suppress black and poor people. Even as he challenges the social norms, he speaks with great hope for a better world, a contagious vision for the crowd gathered.

Juliana lets the tears roll down her cheeks as she listens to him. _Him_. She wonders what he would think if he knew the world she came from, the life she led before now.

John squeezes in closer to make way for the woman with the camera. Juliana barely notices the warmth of him as she is so enraptured by the great orator before her.

"He's brilliant." John whispers, his lips near the top of her head. He can smell her floral shampoo. He stands up a little straighter, refocusing on the speech.

Juliana leans over to the woman with the camera. "Can I get a copy? If I give you my address?" She whispers.

The woman glances at her, slightly annoyed, but seeing Juliana's genuine expression nods. "$5.00." Juliana reaches in her pocket to pull out the money from her first Friday paycheck. She hands it to the woman with a piece of paper, her new address scribbled on it.

"Thanks." Juliana bows her head graciously and continues to listen to the Reverend.

She knows he can't come back with her, and it would likely be far too dangerous. But she imagines what would happen if people in her world began to rebel, to speak up, to resist.

And she knows that she will give her life to see the resistance rise.


	8. Chapter 8

oOoOo

The Reichsmarschall sits in his Pennsylvania office with the gorgeous mountain view, and watches the training tapes of the SS recruits' special project. They are rather dull, with the men sitting on the floor or standing, eyes closed, in some form of meditation or prayer.

He hears a knock on the door and immediately shuts off the projector.

"Come in." His voice calls clearly across the room granite floored room.

Walter enters and after a brief heil, hands Smith two files.

"We've found one confirmed suspect, sir. And have suspicions on the other, a known associate of Juliana Crain's."

Smith opens the first, and his right brow raises. His eyes lift just to glance at Walter. "Pornogrpahic films?"

"Yes, sir. Biracial. Strictly forbidden materials. He also used to be in the American military, sir." Walter says confidently.

"Most American men my age were, Walter." Smith's tone is particularly cold.

"Yes sir." He shifts his weight before continuing. "I only mean, sir, that he has military experience and could therefore be an operative of the Resistance."

Smith flips open the second folder to reveal Liam's image. He has seen it once before, in the file he showed Juliana before she vanished.

"I'm more concerned about non-militant means of uprise, Sturmbannführer. I doubt a few able bodied men would cause our SS officers much issue, do you?"

"No sir." Walter straightens.

"The Resistance is most dangerous in their propaganda and subversive efforts, Walter. See if you can find this _purveyor_ of adult films and bring him in for questioning." Smith looks up, placing the files on his desk and clasping his hands in front of him.

"Yes, Reichsmarschall." He raises his arm and clicks his heels together before leaving.

Smith looks back at the files and smirks darkly.

oOoOo

The drive back to New York is easy enough.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" Juliana offers.

"It's alright. May just need to stop off for dinner and a coffee." John's lips are turned up slightly.

Thomas is again asleep, curled up in the back seat.

"I'm so impressed by teenager's ability to sleep." Juliana smiles at Thomas.

John looks in the rear view mirror. "He is a growing boy, Julia. All he does is eat and sleep."

Juliana feels a small pang of guilt at giving him a false name.

"So, how long until you want to stop?" She asks, looking back out the window.

"A couple more hours. Maybe wait until it gets dark." The radio plays a song John likes so he turns it up a little.

Juliana enjoys the music, and it takes her back to the hotel in Denver. She feels her lips tug down a little. She left Frank near there, and she has no idea when she will see him again. She sits quietly as John drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

The silence is not so much awkward as it is bursting with things left unsaid. Juliana can feel the tension, she has been feeling it since the night before.

"It'll be nice to sleep in my own bed." John stretches a little.

She laughs lightly. "Yes, those motel beds weren't all that great. Add a long drive and a march, and I'm a little stiff too."

"Just glad tomorrow is Sunday and I get to rest before getting back to the school." His lips tug up at the mention of his job. He truly loves those kids.

He glances sideways at her. "Would you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?" He looks forward, not wanting to be caught up in reading her expression. He just needs to know.

"Dinner would be lovely." Juliana replies, watching as he takes a deep breath in a not so subtle sigh of relief.

She doesn't know how much longer she has to enjoy this.

oOoOo

Richie, Liam's associate, sits in an interrogation room tucked away in the Poconos mountains. He is shirtless and bleeding from whip marks. His head is resting on the table, breathing deeply.

Smith strides into the room adorned in his cap and leather trench coat. He stands, staring down at this pathetic man. He throws a picture in front of him.

"Now, Richie... Where can we find Liam?"

Richie lifts his head and replies honestly. "You'll never find him. He's gone on the wind. That's the thing about independent men: never very reliable."

Smith nods to the man standing behind their victim and he immediately lifts a short whip that has metal spikes at the end. The whip sticks into the back flesh before it is tugged back out, spraying blood on the floor.

"Ahhh!" Richie throws his head back and screams.

The Reichsmarschall steps closer, placing his palms on the table and leaning in. Summoning as much menace as he can, he growls, "Now… where _is_ he?"

"He's travelling throughout the Reich, distributing those films. I don't know anything else… I don't know where he means to go next."

"The films _you_ made."

The tortured man just whimpers his answer. John doesn't grin. This man is so pathetic he hardly offers a suitable challenge. There is no sport in interrogating low level criminals. No, his true target is the Resistance.

Smith's tone softens a little, as he straightens up and puts his hands in his pocket. The intensity of his penetrating gaze does not lessen. "Tell me… is he the one who shot the Reichsfuhrer?"

The man slowly lifts his head to meet Smith's commanding visage.

"I don't know, really, I don't. I'm not with them!" He tries to search the Reichsmarschall's eyes for any ounce of understanding.

"Perhaps not, Richie… but then, you helped them didn't you?" Smith feels no sympathy.

"And we found the film in your studio, along with other things…"

Richie's eyes go wide. Smith nods to the soldier behind the prisoner.

The Reichsmarschall turns on his heel to leave, the metal door closing behind him. Just before it locks, he hears another scream and this time, he grins.

oOoOo

John decides to grill steaks up for their second Sunday family dinner. _Family_. He shakes his head at the presumed intimacy. He enjoys Julia's company, but he cannot assume more than friendship, yet. He knows they may be flirtatious, as they were at their first dinner last week, but he is a few years her senior and she could simply be indulging him after all his generosity. He tries not to get too attached to the idea until they can have an honest conversation.

He still scolds himself for not getting up the courage at last week's dinner. He had invited her then for the sole purpose to see where things were going. Instead, they had spent dinner recounting the rally and sharing visions for a better world. Her genuine goodness inspires him and gives him hope.

He refocuses his mind at the task at hand.

"Anything else I can do?" Juliana comes out to the patio, wearing an apron.

"I don't think so, if the salad and potatoes are ready. These are nearly there." John slowly flips the steaks, sprinkling a little more seasoning on them.

Julia's presence sends a warmth through John, perhaps some courage too. He looks up at her, and she is cocking her head slightly sideways. At his sudden observance, she subconsciously tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and shyly bats her lashes. He is not sure if he enjoys this part as much, her faux timidity. He knows the confidence that burns within her, yet sometimes around him she seems to be playing this game. John doesn't know if he should be flattered by her modesty or take offense that she acts this submissive caricature of a woman around him.

"What are you thinking?"

His lips twinge up at her question. "Honestly?"

She nods, "Why would I want anything else?"

"I'm not sure… that's what I've been thinking about, actually." He sighs a little, checking the steaks. They are ready, so he begins to put them to on a plate, which he holds in front of himself, gripping rather tightly as a distraction. He is nervous to continue but he forces himself forward. He had been planning to have this conversation later in the evening, after Thomas goes up to his room to finish homework.

 _Now or never_ , he prods himself.

"I've been wondering why you pretend to be so demure." He gulps.

She stares at him, her eyes widen a little.

"I'm not insinuating anything about your character, that would be hard to do actually. I find you refreshingly compassionate. I more just...I wonder why you seem to hide your capability from me? I don't mean to imply your intentions, but I'm not the sort of man who needs that." He scans her eyes, searching for answers.

"Not the sort of man who needs what?" Her melodic voice tickles his ear. Realizing she is not immediately upset, John lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

"Who needs compliance or deference. I really enjoy your company but I feel like you're holding back." He gives a small smile and shrugs. "But you don't owe me anything, Julia."

"Juliana." She says. "My full name is Juliana."

"Juliana."

Hearing her name on his lips is exhilarating.

"And I think you're right. I've been withdrawn. I just… I don't want to move too quickly."

He finds a hint of longing in her pale blue eyes, beryl he thinks, and summons the determination.

"I just want to know if this is moving anywhere. I really see no reason to rush." He reassures.

Juliana reaches out to take the steaks from him, her fingers gently brush his. The glimmer in her eye and the genuineness of her expression are not meant to be deceptive. She means to convince him, but she also knows there is so little time.

"It is." She says simply as he releases his grip on the plate.

"Good." John brings a hand to the back of his neck, knowing he likely made a fool of himself. "That's good. I guess we should eat those before they get cold." He tries to swallow the awkwardness with his jest and chuckle.

"That may be too late," she teases as she goes back into the house.

As he watches her go in carrying the steaks and preparing the table for the three of them to dine, he reflects on how happy he is and how much he could get used to this.

"Come on, dad, I'm starving!" Thomas calls from the house.

John takes in a deep breath of contentment and joins them inside.

oOoOo

John insisted on driving her home, but he stays in the car and waves goodbye as she turns to walk to the front door. She is thankful that he respects her space but admits a goodnight kiss wouldn't have been so bad. At the thought, she almost curses herself.

Frank. Joe. Frank. Liam. _Frank_.

She gulps at the sudden onslaught of emotion and her eyes begin to mist. She remembers their goodbye, how Frank wanted to pretend she never left their safe haven outside Denver, Colorado. She remembers their last night together, the tender need they both felt, a desire to remember what was and what could be. She wipes the tear away knowing she will see him again, someday. Guilt immediately creeps in to replace her sadness, guilt for the ways she is manipulating John.

 _No_ , she challenges herself. She feels a little more at peace as she is finally able to admit to herself that it isn't all a rouse. She is drawn to him, and in a way, she always has been. Lucy had described his double as "dreadfully handsome," and she had thought even then that it was an astute observation and accurate description.

She sighs to herself. There is no reason to be guilty. Since her "accident," she has worked hard to live in the present moment. She cannot be responsible for every man that falls for her or the way that she loves them each uniquely, she can only be true to herself whatever the circumstances.

Juliana almost laughs, reminded of how Hawthorne had described her. Standing together in the barn, he said, "Some of the people you knew I started seeing them, too, revolving around you like an atom. But they would change different behavior, different relationships, different points of view shaped by their lives. But _you_ were always you. You and your unnatural, consistent mind."

Thoughts of Frank, John, guilt and other memories immediately dissipate when she sees the small box near the front door. She reaches down to reads the address, but she already knows where it is from.

It's the film from their march in Alabama.

Her heart begins to pound in her chest as her unnatural, consistent mind knows what she must do next.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the delay! Grad school picked up and currently working on a spec for the show… but now I can take a break and get back to fanfic fun! Thanks for all the kind words.

oOoOo

Reichsmarschall Smith walks briskly into the training room tucked in the mountain. The new SS recruits are doing a basic fitness regimen of push ups, sit ups, planks, and other core workouts that John does not miss from his recruitment days in the American military. Although he ganders peak physical fitness it is not necessary to travel, he will not allow any of his men to be in less than ideal specimens, if only to protect them from suspicion long enough to see his devious plan through. Besides, even if these men have some terminal illness or other defect that the Reich now considers them "useless eater," Smith knows they have a purpose to fulfill yet. At the thought of how the Fuhrer can be so very wasteful, he shoves the memory of his dear boy deep down further into his subconscious. He does not have the luxury to satiate his nostalgic fatherly affections when he must be the ruler of the Americas in the Great Nazi Reich.

When the first soldat notices Smith, they all stop immediately and jump up in a heil. Mist from their rigorous activities covers their faces, arms, and legs, shirts becoming drenched in sweat, with the smell rising to greet his nostrils in the enclosed space. He dismisses the men quickly, not wanting to interrupt.

"Please, continue."

The five drop back down into their various positions as if nothing had happened, although a few watch him while pretending to be focused on their performance. He knows that each of these men longs for the day to prove themselves to the Reichsmarschall, even unto death. Smith grins, knowing this is the kind of commitment they will need to be successful, and the kind of loyalty he requires for his endeavors.

"You're doing well." Smith walks over to their trainer, Sturmbannführer Hans. "I am pleased with them."

Hans nods, enjoying the praise. He does his workouts in the morning before he arrives so he can properly oversee the men but does not see a reason to tell Smith.

"The meditative practices have been...challenging. Most of the men report it difficult to 'silence their mind.'"

Smith raises an eyebrow, urging his inferior to continue.

"And one, well… he thinks this is near treasonous to practice a philosophy from the Orient. It is not the Aryan way." Hans adds with a gulp and half hearted conviction.

A corner of Smith's lips tugs upward. "Well, it sounds like they are fine men of the Reich then, doesn't it Hans?" He glances over to see the tallest of them is listening in, though trying to appear focused on his exercises.

"Yes, sir." Hans responds dutifully.

"Men!" Smith barks and they are all up in a line at attention. He tries not to smile at the sheer elation of instantaneous obedience. He worked hard to have this position, this title, with the sole purpose to protect his family...once upon a time. Now, he admits to himself, he enjoys the power and authority even though it has cost him dearly.

"Your commanding officer tells me that you do not enjoy these practices?" He looks at them all, face hardened and eyes piercing the psyche of each man.

The men are silent, standing at attention. One of the men with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes shifts his weight uncomfortably.

Smith scoffs. "Come now, I want to speak to you openly. Enough of the loyal soldats. What of these Reich _men_?"

The soldier meets Smith's gaze. "Sir…"

The Reichsmarschall merely crosses his arms and cocks his head, waiting for him to speak.

"Michael, Sir. I… I don't think we should practice stuff of the Japs or any of the oriental ways." He tries his best to keep his voice even, but standing before the Reichsmarschall is like looking into the soul of a starving beast, waiting to swallow you whole.

Smith notices Michael's adams apple quiver.

"And what might you suggest, soldat?" Smith's brow furrows intimidatingly, masking his curiosity, so he can enjoy the dread.

"Sir...we, we are the superior race." The man attempts confidence. Though none of the others move, Smith sees victory and passion in their eyes at the comment. These men are born and bred of their Nazi ideology.

"And what does that have to do with these...meditative practices?" Smith's voice trails, low and gravelly. He hardly means to challenge this man so much, but if the soldier refuses to continue he does not have the required commitment. He watches as Michael puffs out his chest and stands a little straighter, summoning whatever courage and dedication remain untapped.

"Reichsmarschall, sir. We are superior because we know what everyone needs. We know what technology will save humankind. We care deeply for the preservation of our species. Everything we do in the Reich is for the betterment of everyone and everything else. We are selfless. Are these not the principles that could connect us to whatever we must in order to 'travel', as you have described it, sir?" Michael exhales as he finishes.

Smith could not look away if he wanted to. He hears every word, but for the first time, he notices that they are shallow, somehow prevented from penetrating the deepest recesses of his mind. He can almost see a wall blocking Michael's speech from taking hold in his consciousness, from roots going down and yielding the fruit of Himmler's propaganda. He banishes the thought. Whether or not he believes the soldat or the Fuhrer is besides the point. He is the Reichsmarschall and he must at the very least _pretend_ this all makes sense to him.

"Very good." He sounds impressed and notices Michael's eyes lighten and flash with triumph.

"Michael, perhaps you can find some passages that will lend themselves well to this form of meditative practice, reflecting deeply on the oneness that comes from sacrifice for all humanity." Smith clasps his wrists behind his back and turns to Walter.

"Perhaps they can rest their bodies and engage their intellect for a time."

"A perfect course of action, Reichsmarschall." Hans sounds a little irritated that Michael is getting the recognition. Smith recognizes he will need all loyal men around him for any of his plans to be successful.

"Well done." Smith mumbled under his breath for only Hans to hear. "It takes a good leader to allow the men to think such things are their own ideas. They will own it with much more fervor, and you will lead them." Smith grins in pleasure.

Hans is elated. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Smith nods and marches from the room. With these men in Hans' capable hands, he has other pressing matters to attend to.

oOoOo

He has been on the road from the Poconos for a few hours and the drive allows too much time for Smith's thoughts to wander to worst case scenarios. His men in New York had notified him of two things: Himmler awoke from his comatose state following the trauma and surgery... and they found Helen.

His mouth is dry as he drives as quickly as he dares on the country roads. He changed out of his uniform and is now wearing a pair of gray slacks, a blue button up shirt, his brown coat and a cap. He knows that if anyone looks closely, they will see the Reichsmarschall, but he hopes to fly mostly under the radar in the small town south of Lake Eerie.

The few hours pass at an aggravatingly slow pace, but he is getting close now.

He pulls over briefly to look at a map, then notes the next few streets to where Helen was last spotted with his girls just yesterday. His palms are sweaty as he gets back on the road. Left. Straight. Right. Left.

Soon enough, he sees a glowing red MOTEL sign over a simple two story building, no more than twenty rooms. Gulping, he pulls in and parks in a spot that allows a clear vantage point of most the doors. He scans the parking lot but doesn't see their family car.

His mind whirls. What if Himmler's first orders were to get them as he had threatened so many times? What if someone finds out she is his wife and takes her captive for ransom or as a political bargaining chip? What if the Resistance kills them all just to torture him, just as they had planned to do to Thomas?

His eyes narrow and his heart skips a beat as he sees the familiar blue Volkswagen pull in.

He forgets himself and is out of the car immediately. The driver barely has a moment to park before John is opening the front door.

"Who are you?" Smith almost yells.

"Excuse me?" A man a little older than John retorts, sounding rather indignant for obvious reasons.

"Where is Helen?" Smith tries to keep his voice even, as a hand rests on the car door, the other on the ceiling. He knows his posture is threatening but he does not care. He needs answers.

"The woman who sold me this car?" The man seems baffled by the intensity.

"When? How long ago?" Smith demands, his Reichsmarschall bark seeming out of place as he grabs the man's shirt and lifts him from the car. His strength occasionally astonishes even himself, but desperate times.

"Why should I tell you?" The man shouts, grabbing at Smith's hand to try and force his grip off. Out of the corner of his eye, Smith sees someone standing at their room door, having heard the commotion outside.

Smith releases the driver and chooses a different option. He pulls out his I.D. card and shows him. The man's eyes go wide.

"Oh, Rei- Reichsmarschall!" The man stutters out. "Please, sir. I am so sorry. I… I didn't know…" Fear consumes his gaze and Smith knows he will be useless if not put at ease.

"It's quite alright." He musters a smoother tone. "Now, when did she sell you this car?" He asks with less urgency.

"Just this evening, sir, back at the diner. She said she wanted something better for the dirt country roads. I traded her my truck for it. I...I got the better deal, but she insisted I needn't pay her for it!" The man straightens his shirt and tries to sound convincing.

"Where is the diner?"

The man points down the road. "But, sir, she is gone already. She left immediately with her girls after dinner. Seemed spooked by something."

John sighs. Somehow, Helen knew he was coming for her. His men said she was in the town for a few days already with no signs of leaving, and yet an hour or so before he arrives, she flees his grasp.

"Sir, can I do anything to help you?" The man looks concerned. John currently feels like an idiot, a poor husband and a terrible father. He wonders if he should buy back their family sedan, but he knows there is no point to it. If he can't catch up to Helen, he won't have a family any longer.

"No. Thank you for your help." He turns abruptly and returns to his car.

He pulls out on the road and leaves the quaint lake-side down for the more open space. The drive West will be worse than the one out here. He wishes he had time to spend searching for his girls, but he only allowed himself a short window on his way to New Berlin.

Hours go by alternating small towns, flat plains, and farmland. His eyes are getting heavy as it gets later into the night. His stomach grumbles, telling him he forgot eat dinner. He blinks a few times, trying to banish his exhaustion.

oOoOo

Juliana unlocks the door to Mrs. Krendel's home and quietly tip toes inside. She does not want to wake the nurse as it would lead to some odd questions, and probably scrutiny about her being out late with Mr. Smith again, and she hasn't the time or the mind to explain.

She heads down the hall to her bedroom and shuts the door softly.

Her room is sparse. She has a small closet with a few things of her thrift store purchases, an alarm clock Mrs. Krendel loaned her, and a twin bed against the wall with old quilts and lumpy pillows. She had not been entirely honest when she told John the motel beds were less comfortable than this one. Still, she knows it beats sleeping on the floor or in a cell.

A cell she may very well find herself in again.

She slowly opens the brown paper package to reveal a film case and note.

"Dear Juliana,

Keep fighting the good fight.

Let freedom ring.

-Sam"

Juliana closes her eyes holds the note and film to her chest. She remembers the thrill of hearing Dr. King speak, of seeing people of every ethnicity, gender, age, class and religion walking in hope for a better world. She wishes with all of herself, in the core of her being, that such unity could be known in her world.

As she concentrates on this hope, she senses her connection to her world growing. In her mind's eye, she sees a light shoot out from her, a blazen string that is rooted in her timeline, her universe where the Nazis rule. She is about to follow the path when suddenly she senses another string tethered to this world, a world of hope, of activism, with Thomas, and John. She remembers letting Trudy go and focuses on this second connection.

She thinks of Thomas, pictures him so clearly that it is like he is standing in front of her. She must consciously let him go. She knows she will be back, but it hurts to release him nonetheless. As she returns to a contemplative state and prepares again to go to her world, it is clear that there remains a much stronger anchor.

 _John_.

The idea of leaving him behind causes her pain, leading to unexpected hesitation. She takes a deep breath and refocuses. She remembers Tagomi's training, and concentrates on releasing her fondness for John, forcing herself to cast aside any possibilities about what could exist between them. The thoughts are gut wrenchingly real. She begins to grieve, as though Thomas and John have just died.

In a bright flash of light, she is gone.

The only evidence she has been in that room at all is the torn brown paper wrapping and tears drops staining the quilt.

oOoOo

There is a flash of light in the middle of the road and John Smith swerves just in time to miss it and instinctively his right foot slams on the break. The tires screech to a halt, the smell of burned rubber and asphalt assaulting his nostrils. His body is thrust forward and backward with such force that it knocks the wind out of him. His knuckles are white, squeezing the driving wheel as if his life depended on it. He slowly releases, his heart pounding and all of his previous lethargy is banished in the rush of adrenaline.

He grabs his gun from his holster and hastens to get out of the car. As he stands and faces whatever object has been thrown in front of his vehicle, he sees the dark outline of a person, a woman.

She turns slowly. His car lights are illuminating the other direction and offer no assistance to make out her identity. He leaves his gun at his side, but his trigger finger twitches, ready for whatever comes.

"Hello, John."

 _Juliana_.

The air is cold as he breathes sharply in surprise. He squints, trying to make out her features. He doesn't need to, he knows her voice all too well.

He wants to shoot her. He knows he probably _should_ shoot her. Part of him needs to shoot her, to make her bleed and pay for the trouble she has caused him. And yet, part of him hesitates, a minority of his consciousness, but somehow it refuses to relent on the matter. He does not lift his gun.

"Juliana." He finally replies, his body remembering how to breath normally. He does everything in his power to sound unimpressed. He imagines she is smiling at him.

"I have something for you." She walks briskly, the light lending some aid as she comes closer. She is still wrapped in shadow, but he can see she is wearing a high waisted skirt and blouse, a little shorter over the knee than is proper for a woman of the Reich.

As he watches her confidently stride towards him, he can't help but wonder where this woman has been and what she has been up to in other worlds. He has a million questions about them, about travelling, about the U.S.A, all questions from John Smith the man, not the current Reichsmarschall overseeing a plot of multi-universe domination. But he isn't just a man, and he has a duty and appearances to maintain.

He lifts his gun, aiming at her head this time. "Stop right there."

Juliana lifts up her arms, revealing what she holds in her right hand to be a film case.

"Hand it over."

"I was about to." She replies simply, almost condescendingly so.

She leans forward to hand the film to him, and his hand clasps hers, and he squeezes so she cannot release, pulling her nearer so he can see her face properly.

"Where were you?" He doesn't mean to growl as much as he does, but still there is no fear in her expression. She hasn't seemed afraid of him since the day he visited her apartment, the day he challenged her broken wing facade.

"It's all here, in the film." Her eyes sparkle and there is no feigned innocence, only sincerity and a fiery passion burning deep within.

Despite himself, he puts his gun in his holster and releases her, taking hold of the film. She does not back away.

"Why did you come back?" He investigates her for an ounce of deception.

"For you." Again, her genuine authenticity infuriates him. He wants to believe she is a master manipulator of the Resistance, he needs to believe that. Otherwise… otherwise he does not know what to make of her.

"Me?" His voice is low, but he can't keep the flash of need from his eyes.

"Because, John. I believe there is so much more to you." Juliana steps in so that their faces are only a foot apart, causing Smith to unintentionally gulp.

"You're not just this man… you're... There is this other piece in you, waiting to be set free." Juliana hesitates a moment, and John doesn't move. He wants to arrest her again, but he is finally able to admit that he cannot cage this bird.

She gently places a hand on his chest and it lifts as he gasps in surprise. She looks into his deep, hazel eyes and sees hiding beyond a glimmer of hope and resemblance to the man she left behind. Although she reminds herself that she stands before the John who has murdered her a thousand different ways in her sleep.

He feels her hand on his chest and his chest heaves as he sharply inhales. He searches for malice in her angelic blue eyes. He finds none. He sees, he isn't sure what he sees. He hasn't seen _that_ in someone's eyes in a while, not since before Thomas gave himself up, and maybe even further back still since he has seen that look in Helen's eyes.

Juliana is held hostage by his penetrating gaze. She feels her sudden need for him and all jittery indecision dissipates. She closes her eyes, leans in slowly, and gently brushes her lips against his. She pulls back quickly before the peck can become anything more.

John watches as she closes her eyes and leans in, and feels her delicate lips brush his own, and he cannot deny the desire that arises within. Without pause, his eyes close. This woman is a paradox he cannot comprehend and cannot stop thinking about. She has plagued his mind since she so captivated Joe, since Thomas chose to trust her more than his own family, since she killed a man to save his son's life, since she vanished without a trace. Almost the moment he feels her soft lips, she pulls back and his eyes open immediately, puzzled by her retreat.

She looks at his stunned expression and worries she has forgotten herself, forgotten who this man really is, forgotten that Helen is very much alive in this world. She takes a step back and her hand drops from his chest.

As she withdraws, John's body refuses to allow her escape. He tosses the film aside, steps into the gap and pulls her in for a deeper, passionate kiss. One hand firmly holds the small of her back, pressing himself into her. The other grabs her neck, more gently, and feeling her softness makes him want all the more.

She does not resist him. She kisses him back, imagining her John, expressing all of her longing. She throws her arms around his neck, allowing him full access to her mouth.

He feels his body responding to their closeness, to the taste and smell of her. He hasn't been this entranced by a woman in ages. A fleeting thought of Helen crosses his mind but he lets it go, knowing she is doing everything she can to be rid of him.

Despite herself, Juliana pulls her mouth away and takes a deep breath, looking down.

"I...I can't" She whispers. She closes her eyes and pictures the tether back to the other world, to the world where Thomas is alive and the Nazi's lost. To the world with her beloved John.

"I had him shot." Smith says quietly, still holding her.

Juliana opens her eyes, worried for the first time. "Who?"

"Himmler." He pauses so she can register the information and sees her worry turn to curiosity. "I leaked the information to the Resistance. I knew the best position and about what time we would be there."

"Why?" Juliana reads the conflict in his eyes.

"To protect them. Helen...and my girls." His mouth feels dry when he says his wife's name.

"Was it only for them?" She asks, and John can sense her disappointment and it tortures him.

He lets her go as her arms drop from his neck. "Yes. I'm not the man you want me to be, Juliana. I can't be. I've had to be something else..."

Juliana looks from John to the film, and takes another step back. "You've become the Alpha wolf, John. You've had to, or thought you did in order to protect everything you once cared about. Watch the film, John. You are many things, you just don't realize it yet."

He is surprised when she moves closer to him again.

She takes his hands, holding them in front of her. Somehow, this intimacy feels more uncomfortable to John than their previous kiss. Her sky orbs probe his soul, searching through all of who he is.

"I think you can be whoever and whatever you want to be, John. Your fate is _not_ sealed."

"Will you stay?" He feels as though he could never think of other version of himself alone.

"I found him, John." Her voice cracks in hope and sorrow. "I found Thomas."

John tightens his grip on her hands. "Will you bring him back to me?" The plea escapes his lips as his eyes flash with desperation.

"I will, for a time. But I have to go back and show him the way." She brings a hand to his sharp cheekbones. Those cold, metallic orbs now look sentimental, like a father longing for his son. She imagines them misting over but cannot be sure in the present darkness.

"Go." He says simply, and she knows that part of him wants to keep her here. She cannot tell if it is the Reichsmarschall or the man, or a mix of both.

"Please, watch the film. I will be back...John."

Juliana empathizes with his anguish and kisses him again, a seal on her promise to return.

A moment later and in a flash of light, she is gone.

All he has is the memory of her lips, forever imprinted on his mind.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you for your patience. I've been writing specs for other shows and left this for far too long. The trailer dropped today-woohoo!-and got me excited again. Especially seeing our lovelies together!_

 _For those John/Helen fans-I am with you. I love them in the show too, but I also think Julianna/Smith have such fab chemistry and you know, maybe in another world where John is alone ;)_

 _Enjoy!_

oOoOo

Traveling back is easier for Juliana. She just has to picture life with John and Tom, and there she is immediately. Literally.

When Juliana reappears in her second world, she stands on the doorstep in front of the Smith home. She looks in the window and notices a light in the living room is still on. She wonders what John would still be doing up, then she realizes he only just dropped her off. She would have no way to explain how she got back here.

She quickly decides she does not care.

Juliana knocks lightly, not wanting to draw attention from Thomas if he is still awake.

She sees the tall, dark featured figure moving towards the door. John opens, baffled at her rather sudden presence.

"Hello." She doesn't know what else to say.

"Hi…" He looks at her, eyebrow perked a bit in amusement. "I'm happy to see you, but what on earth are you doing back here? Forget something?"

"Yes." And with the need and longing she summoned in her world, she leans forward and presses her lips firmly to his. This time, she does not pull away.

John is pleasantly surprised by her boldness and immediately wraps his arms around the small of her back, pulling her into himself. He has a million questions, but right now lacks the curiosity to ask them for fear of interrupting this moment of bliss.

She pulls back and smiles up at him, at _her_ John. It has only been a few weeks, but he truly is dreadfully handsome, extremely intelligent, and in this world, a force of just compassion she feels completely safe with. For the first time since Trudy was shot, she feels _safe_.

John meets her gaze, noting how her eyes seem full of genuine adoration.

"What?" He asks almost meekly, feeling suddenly unsure of himself.

"Can I come in?"

He grins in response and pulls her into another kiss, this time in the house as they stumble far enough down the hall for him to close the door.

"Shh." She says almost laughing. "Don't wake Thomas."

"Oh shit, Tom…" He looks walks down the hall, glancing up the stairs. It's dark up there but he knows his son could be awake in his room.

"The office?" She suggests.

"The office." He beams at her and pulls her in again. His heart pounds in his chest and he wonders if she can hear it or feel it through her palm resting there.

Juliana leads them backwards into the room where she used to sleep. She still cannot believe how she ended up here of all places. She was looking for Thomas, looking for the boy who could perhaps restore his father to his own humanity and the dormant goodness within. As a bonus, she found this John, the one who became the caring father, the avid reader, the thoughtful teacher. She fell for him quickly, _too_ quickly perhaps.

She reminds herself that mid makeout is probably not the best time to scold herself on her romantic choices. She wraps a hand around his neck as they collapse together onto the twin bed.

John looks down at her, smiling. "Have I mentioned how thankful I am that you twisted your ankle?"

"Yes, my clumsiness works wonders."

He leans down and pauses, lips almost touching. A million thoughts run through his head, a war between the unanswered questions and his unbridled desire. He wants to kick himself when he chooses the former.

"Why are you _really_ here?" His emerald eyes search her sapphire, hoping beyond hope that all his instincts are wrong.

But he never felt quite right about her. She is kind and compassionate, but he always sensed something more.

She gulps and he sees something flash in her eyes and knows that this conversation has likely stopped whatever was just about to happen. He rolls to the side, resting on an elbow as he looks at her. She sits up, looking away for a moment, shoulders slowly slumping as she sighs.

It's time.

"I don't even know where to begin." She turns to face him. She wants to be honest, to tell him everything, but she isn't a fool. She knows how completely ridiculous everything will sound. And she knows she will have to be honest about what she was hoping to do with Thomas.

 _Thomas_. The truth could break John's heart.

"If it's a long story, we have all night." He gives a small, encouraging smile hoping it is enough and praying it masks his anxiety.

"I don't want you to hate me." She offers truthfully and he can see in her eyes that his question has injured her.

"My dear," he lifts a hand to gently cup her face. "I could _never_ hate you."

Juliana would laugh if it didn't hurt so much. She knows he _can_ and probably does hate her in many other worlds under many different circumstances. But she gulps and presses on.

"You deserve the truth." She replies resolutely. "Just promise me you'll listen to all of it… You might hear things you don't understand or that are difficult, sound crazy even, but please… wait until the end to ask me questions. Promise?"

She stares at him intently, and he nods. "I promise."

She sighs, and begins to tell him the tale of her world, beginning with the bombing of Washington D.C., and the Allies losing the second world war. She talks briefly about growing up in San Francisco, about her family and then Trudy's death. She omits the parts about Frank and most of those about Joe and Liam. She focuses on her connection to John in her world, and on the Resistance she is helping lead.

As she talks, she notices John's myriad of expressions. Disappointment. Confusion. Dismay. Frustration. Disbelief.

She ends with a tear in her eye, believing she has lost him. " _That_ John Smith shot me as I was starting to travel… and I ended up here, in a hospital." She takes a deep breath to finally answer his actual question-why she is _really_ there.

"I looked for a world where Thomas is still alive… so that maybe I could teach him to travel, and he could tell his father, your doppelganger in my world, to be a better man… I wouldn't let him stay there, but he would need to be there, for a little while. Long enough to change our fate and save my world."

Juliana wipes her tears and looks at John, who is sitting up now, leaning against the wall. She is pretty sure anger now dominates his expression, although she is surprised to learn why.

"That's quite the tale." He gets off the bed and starts pacing.

"I'm so sorry, John. I know… it sounds ridiculous"

"No, not ridiculous, Juliana. It sounds _copied_." He storms over to his desk and grabs the manuscript of his novel.

"I mean, I knew you stayed here for a week, I just figured that if you read my book, you'd just talk to me about it." His eyes burn with betrayal.

"Your book?" Juliana is puzzled by the accusation. "I only read a few pages about a man at war…"

John thrusts the pages towards her. "A man at war, but the Allies _lose_! The Nazis bomb Washington D.C. and the take over most of America. Then there is the Resistance fighting back."

Juliana takes the book and flips further into it. She reads quickly as he paces.

"I didn't read this, John… I'm telling you the truth."

John charges towards her and grabs the manuscript. He flips to a page a few chapters in and thrusts it back towards her. "See, right there!"

Juliana skims a paragraph about an American soldier, she assumes a "fictional" version of John Smith, goes undercover as a Nazi spy in order to protect his family.

"John… this… how can this be?" Juliana looks up at him, unsure how he knows so much about her world. How can he have flashbacks? He's _alive_ in that world. Are there more versions where the Nazis won than just her own? Abe suggested their world was the only one that was so far off, killing so many people that it became like a vacuum across the universe, picking up travellers.

John doesn't care to search her eyes for authenticity. He is too upset and would rather she just go.

"But why the multiple worlds? Why bring my son into it?" He finally stops, staring back at her.

Goosebumps form and the hairs on her neck stand on end as John's countenance is reminiscent of the vicious Reichsmarschall. He is furious and senses a threat to his kin, the alpha ready to fight off any adversary.

"John… How long have you been having these dreams or visions?"

John releases his clenched fists.

"How… I didn't say I was having dreams or visions."

Juliana stands to face him.

"John, please." She looks directly into his eyes. This is not that Smith. This is her John, the man she is falling in love with. She must reach him.

"I know they are, because I had them too, in my world." She cups his face, and for a moment he allows her to offer him comfort. But then he steps back suddenly, darkening his glare.

"How can this be real?" He raises his voice

"John, please-"

"No, Juliana. I can't keep talking about this. I... I need time. Just... go." His gravelly voice is a growl and Juliana's sadness begins to bubble up into the corners of her eyes as she rushes out of the office. John watches her go as his heart rests in his throat. He gulps and tosses the manuscript back on the desk.

He hears the front door slam shut.

She's gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Juliana vanishes, leaving the Reichsmarschall alone in the darkness, standing on the side of the back country road. It takes him a few breaths before he can collect himself and act. Adrenaline pumping, he grabs the film off the road and gets in his car.

Smith knows he needs to watch the film, but he also has other matters to attend to before it is too late. He wants to curse himself for admitting to the leader of the Resistance that he had Himmler shot. He knows she affects him, always has. Before, he had Helen, they were a team. Now, he feels alone in all of this.

Smith drives through the night, eyes clear and focused despite his exhaustion. He can sleep when he's dead, and if what he just confessed catches up to him, that will be much sooner than he had hoped.

As the sun begins to rise, he spots the small shed near the edge of the property, and a few acres in is the old white wooden farm, just as he remembers it. Smith finds himself wandering through memories of his previous life, before the Reich, before the war, when he was just a lad who found odd jobs to support himself and his mom.

Back then, Jack Bradley had been his best friend.

His car pulls up and a man emerges from the house, broad chested and sun tanned. He wears a ball cap, worn out jeans and a white t-shirt. Even after the years that have passed he recognizes John immediately. Jack grins at Smith and waves for him to park the car near the apple tree.

"John!" Jack calls, walking over and giving the man a bear hug. Smith, usually uninterested in this sort of physical affection outside of his family, embraces the hardened farmer.

"Hi Jack." His voice is smooth.

The man pulls back, holding Smith's shoulders. "Funny, you don't look like a Reichsmarschall."

Smith grins. "Incognito, my friend."

"Want a cup of coffee?" The man leads the way back into the house before Smith can respond. He glances around, noting how this farm house is completely isolated, before going inside.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the leader of the no longer free world?" Jack sets down a mug and turns back to grab the coffee pot.

"You know why, Jack." Smith's low voice is tinged with regret.

Jack turns back with a frown, pouring Smith a cup. "I know," he says, setting the pot down and pulls out his seat.

The two drink in silence a moment. Smith is on full alert but trying to appear calm in the presence of his old friend.

Jack downs his mug. "For that, I'll need something stronger."

He gets up and pulls a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet, pulling two shot glasses with him.

"Drink." Jack sets down the glasses and pours them, some whiskey sloshing onto the table, but he doesn't care. Smith normally would be bothered by the near command, but today, he will make an exception.

Smith just watches every movement as if trying to imprint this image of drinking with his friend into his memories forever.

"You're _still_ too quiet." Jack teases, pouring himself another shot. Smith doesn't drink this one right away. He wishes he could indulge and let all the stressors of the world leave him. Unlike Juliana, he cannot just pop away when things are challenging or painful.

"Why didn't you run?" Smith's composure cracks as he pleads to his friend. "With Nancy and Marie? Why didn't you just go _with_ them?"

At the thought of his wife and daughter, Jack skips the glass this time and guzzles from the bottle. He slams it on the table, a little too hard. Smith doesn't flinch. Jack glares at him, pointing a finger in judgment.

"I… I know better than to run from you. Lieutenant Smith always gets 'em." Jack begins to laugh, and that unsettles Smith more than the anger a moment before.

In response, Smith cracks a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Bet you haven't heard that in a long time." Jack takes another swig.

"More recently than you'd think." Smith takes a deep breath, remembering Abe Hawkes discovery of who he really is.

He doesn't know what he expected to see Jack again, his childhood friend and war buddy, after years in the SS. Smith has spied, killed, and betrayed his way to his current position as Reichsmarschall. What did Jack really think of him? Should Smith even care?

"Alright, Smithy, spill. What's going on?" Jack's bottle is now about halfway gone.

Now Smith does smile. He raises an eyebrow, looking at Jack sideways. "Even now, you're worried about _me_ when I'm here to _kill_ you?" Smith shakes his head. "You were always too good, Jack."

"Yeah, refreshing isn't it? Remembering what the world was like when people cared about each other instead of pretending to give a damn about the Fuhrer." Jack leans back and folds his hands on his chest. "So come on… you can tell me. I'll be dead soon, right?"

Smith frowns as the Reichsmarschall mask keeps cracking. "It wasn't supposed to be this way." He finally downs the shot in front of him. "Helen… she's gone."

"Oh, shit…." Jack looks concerned.

"She's alive. She just...left me. After I became Oberstgruppenführer." Smith sighs. "I should have seen it coming, really. I got in too deep. Everything, _everything_ I did was to protect them. And then Tom…" Smith lets his head fall. If there is a moment for Jack to take advantage, to fight back or run, it is right now.

Jack doesn't move.

"I know. I'm really sorry." Jack looks at him empathetically before taking a big gulp. "How can you keep this up then?" Jack slides the bottle across the table.

Smith can't be both. He can't be the man from long ago and the Reichsmarschall. Somewhere is a premature thought in the back of his mind telling him he will have to choose.

"I always thought if I worked towards the top, but…" It's Smith's turn to take a swig.

"D'ya think Himmler will pull through?" Jack's words slur a little. The nearly half a bottle is beginning to take effect.

Smith stands, checking that he isn't impacted by the whiskey. "Unfortunately, it seems likely." He pulls the gun from his holster.

"Still time to let me run, eh?" Jack gives a smile, but his eyes seem full of sorrow and betrayal.

"You were right. I can't have any loose ends." Smith's eyes go cold. "I can't."

Smith raises his gun and Jack stands. "I'd'a be happy ter do it all again… only if'n those Resistance guys got a fatal shot of the bastard."

"Things might have turned out differently." Smith finishes for him. Jack gives a nod, then salutes.

"It was a pleasure servin' wit' you, Lieutenant Smith."

"And you, Captain Bradley." Smith shoots him square in the forehead and Jack's body drops instantly.

Smith replaces his gun and wipes his eyes.

For a moment he thinks he will drown in regret and sorrow, but the pieces of the Reichsmarschall mask are slowly falling back into place, and he forces the defeating emotions down. Smith clenches his jaw and turns on his heel. He has a film to watch, soldiers to train, and half the world to run.

And for now he knows his secret is safe.


End file.
